


Unsung

by everybody_koiya



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Balcony Scene (a bit differently), Brotherly Love, Canon Compliant, Duelling, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Helpful old lady ex machina, Kinda AU But Not Really, Letters, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nicknames, References to Smut, Reunions, Some dialogue/actions from Rómeó és Júlia, Stabbing, The Capulet Ball, Wingman Valentine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-11-19 12:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybody_koiya/pseuds/everybody_koiya
Summary: Everybody knew of the love Romeo and Juliet had shared. All over the world, people remember them, for they have fought and suffered for happiness. But not all lovers' stories get written. There is always a little more love and a little more tragedy hidden in plain sight if you know where to look.





	1. Mon ami d'enfance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nephew of Montague and the heir to Verona's throne were once no more than two little boys, their souls bound to one another's as soon as they met. What would become of them, nobody could predict. How much simpler a world that was...

The sun had shone brightly that afternoon, back when he was seven. Benvolio held his aunt's hand tight as they walked the streets of Verona, his mind still on the morning lessons with his tutor. On the new, harder reading exercise, on the mysteries the stars held high in the sky, on the foreign and interesting secrets of numbers and even the short song he taught him in their spare time. He hummed along to it quietly, eyes on the royal palace ahead of them, the building so big and graceful it oftentimes intimidated him. But not that day.

As they walked close, Benvolio noticed a boy around his age, fencing on the steps with his tutor. He moved fast and light, almost like a bird. The Montague's mouth fell open as he watched him, steps halting. It didn't take long for the fencer to notice him, either. He dodged his tutor's attack, and ran down to greet them, wooden sword still in hand.

"Good afternoon, Lady Montague!" he said loud and clear with an exhausted grin on his face, locks of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Benvolio watched his aunt, who just smiled at the other boy.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Mercutio." Mercutio. He had heard that name before. Could he be the Prince's son? That boy everyone kept mentioning to him and telling him he should be friends with? As he was thinking, Benvolio felt his hand being squeezed. "Benvolio, dear, say hello!"

"Good afternoon, Benvolio!" came the second greeting. The Montague could barely look at the other boy without being nervous. He was royalty, after all. According to the adults, that was a big thing, even bigger than a tutor or a parent. He was probably so much smarter, so much braver, so much better than him. At last, he lifted his eyes at him, who was still smiling, bright and just as fascinating as the stars he had learned about. 

"Good afternoon, Your Grace..." he muttered quietly, nearly just a whisper. Mercutio seemed quite surprised.

"No, don't call me that!" he said nearly immediately. "Then I'd have the same name as Father and Mother. That's boring. I like Mercutio." he explained, making Benvolio laugh and nod. He was right, it would be quite boring. He couldn't imagine being called the same as his uncle. What kind of name is Giovanni anyway?

Before he knew it, the young fencer's hand was extended towards him, the look in his eyes kind, but expectant. He had seen this kind of greeting before, at the times when guests came to the Montague mansion. He took Mercutio's hand and shook it, trying to be as firm and grown-up as he could. 

When they parted, Lady Montague turned to her nephew. "Dear, would you like to stay a little? I feel like the two of you would make great friends." Here she goes again... Mercutio was beaming. Benvolio, on the other hand, got scared. He didn't want friends in the first place, and now there was this boy, bright and graceful and good, and most of all, above him, because he lived in some dumb palace.

"But I have a friend..." he murmured barely loud enough to be heard.

"Oh, but Romeo is your cousin!" she smiled. Benvolio couldn't quite understand why that would be a problem. "And he's still so young." Not by much. Only three years. Did that really matter?

As he was about to answer, Mercutio took some steps lower, now standing directly eye-to-eye with him. "I would be glad if you stayed." Benvolio's mind went completely blank. He forgot every word he had ever known and learned. Why would  _the Prince's son_ want to be friends with  _him_? Luckily for him, he spotted a lady approaching them from behind, her arrival meaning he didn't have to think of an answer right away.

As she came closer, he recognised her features. She was not just any lady, but THE lady of Verona, Princess Caterina. It had been quite the while since she visited them, around the time when Romeo was born, yet such a beautiful and graceful woman was hard to forget. And her son had every bit of her charms.

"Lady Montague, what a pleasant surprise!" she smiled, stopping by her son's side and putting a hand around his shoulders. The addressed lady bowed before the princess, Benvolio following suit. "And..." she bent down a little, looking Benvolio in the eyes as if trying to recognise him. The boy couldn't help but wonder why 'personal space' wasn't a part of the royal family's vocabulary. "Benvolio, is that you?" she smiled at him bright. "Look at you, how much you've grown."

As the young Montague's eyes wandered from mother to son, he realised both of them were so much kinder than everybody in the mansion said. Prince Niccolò this, Princess Caterina that, all he heard about the royal family were complaints, because that's what adults do. Complain. Yet everything they do is just as bad.

"Are you in a hurry?" The princess asked them. "Do come in for tea. Be my guests." Benvolio looked at his aunt, who turned towards him as well, waiting for a confirmation. He just nodded. A cup of tea wouldn't hurt, now, would it? 

* * * * *

As the adults had tea at a table nearby, awkward silence sat between Benvolio and Mercutio at another. The Montague boy had no idea what to say or how to act around him - all the etiquette lessons he had been forced to sit through didn't really leave a permanent dent.

"Your mother is very kind." he began finally, with the beginnings of a smile on his lips. 

"So is your aunt" came the reply nearly immediately. He was as fast at answering as he was at fencing. Mercutio looked him up and down, and leaned a little closer. "Can I tell you a secret?" he whispered into his ear. Benvolio thought a little before nodding 'yes' to him. "You know Tybalt, right?"

"I do." Benvolio answered, fully expecting some kind of bragging about the Capulet boy. They always thought themselves bigger and richer than Benvolio's family, when they were really nothing but 'a bunch of fools', as his uncle once said. 

"You know, he's very mean. And quiet. They want us to learn together because he is as old as me, but I don't like it. He doesn't ever talk to me. And Paris is older, and doesn't care about anything but boring grown-up things. But you're polite and kind. I think I like you." Benvolio was quite surprised to say the least, his mind once again going blank. But as he looked into Mercutio's eyes, he saw them shining with hope. For a split second, he thought he even saw some stars in them.

"Thank you, Mercutio." he smiled for real now. A shy little smile reserved only for the other boy. "I... think I like you too." 

"I only have my brother as a friend, too." he continued. "He's only four, and very sweet, but not too much fun just yet." As old as Romeo, Benvolio made a mental note. All of a sudden, the fencer's smile widened into a grin as he got an idea, placing a hand on the Montague's shoulder. "Would you like to be friends with me?"

"Yes!" Benvolio found himself blurting out before he could think it through. "Yes, sure!" He ignored his family, his lower status compared to Mercutio, the half-drunk tea that was getting cold in front of him, and every single thing for a little while. He saw stars. And he knew anyone who could bring him the stars from the sky is worth staying next to.

* * POV SWITCH * *

Caterina needed this talk. She hadn't spoken to anyone except for her servants and family in a week. Surely, Montague's wife wasn't exactly unbiased regarding the day-to-day events of Verona, but at least having got married to a prestigious man didn't cloud her judgement as much as Lady Capulet's. And as long as the town gossip stayed fresh, Caterina felt entertained.

As she put down her cup, and was about to say goodbye to the other lady, she spotted her son running towards their table, Benvolio in his trail.

"Mother, may Ben stay here for the night?" he asked, trying to use the same innocent and convincing smile the princess herself was famous for in her younger years. 

"Ben?" she eyed the two of them curiously. There was no way they made friends that fast. "You've found your match in him, huh?" she asked, suppressing a giggle. The princess turned to Lady Montague, who returned her smile. "Of course he may, darling. But only if his aunt agrees."

Lady Montague seemed positive. Whether that was because of her seeing the possibilities of a tighter bond between the royal family and the house of Montague, or because she genuinely cared, she had no way of knowing. "I'm only glad to see my nephew happy." she bent down to caress the grinning little boy's face. Caterina wondered if she should have more initial trust in people. "Have fun, dear. See you tomorrow morning." As the two of them watched their respective boys run off and disappear in the palace corridors, the princess quickly whispered a 'thank you' to God. In a town like this, even the shortest of friendships made a significant difference. And her boy deserved only happiness. No matter, how brief.

* * * * *

"Caterina!" The princess lifted her head from her book, as her brother entered her study. "Was that Montague's nephew I saw with Mercutio?" he asked, seeming quite agitated. Bartolomeo was as strict about diplomacy and appearing neutral in the feud as their late father was.

"Benvolio, yes." she smiled to herself. It had been a week since their first encounter, and the two of them were still practically inseparable. "They seem to be rather fond of one another's company." Bartolomeo furrowed his brows.

"So be it. I just hope your son is smart enough to know who he should consort with."

"Consort!" she laughed. Interesting choice of words to describe their association. She stood up from the sofa she sat on, and walked towards the older man. "Brother dear. He's only eight, yes, but he bears the Escalus name. No one in our family has ever been a fool. Except for those who married in."

"Explains your husband." Bartolomeo retorted without much thought, earning only an eye roll from his sister.

"Don't think I'm not worried about my boys. But I trust Mercutio and Valentine both to have what it takes to keep the chaos somewhat tamed. Together, they will surely be a force to be reckoned with" she crossed her arms with a smile. "As for the young Montague, you have to admit he's a far better choice of companion than Tybalt Capulet."

"No question. From what I heard, Benvolio inherited his late mother's gentle heart, but even so, Montague blood flows in his veins. Those people are as impulsive as the Capulets are violent. There's no guarantee he won't change." The Escalus man continued his argument. Caterina wouldn't say it wasn't valid, of course it was. She just chose not to care.

"And also... none that he will." she grinned, making him sigh. She enjoyed it more than she was proud to admit.

"You know what?" Bartolomeo asked. "I'll let you raise your son the way you want. But don't come to me crying when he gets himself stabbed in the back." Caterina wanted to reply with something witty, but before she could think of anything, her brother was already out the door. There was truth in what he said. It  _could_ happen in a place like Verona. But not with those two boys. 

The morning after their first meeting, the princess was witness to their farewell on the very steps they met on. It was quite enough to assure her she would be seeing more of Benvolio both in the palace and in her son's life.

"So, tomorrow morning?" She heard Mercutio ask him eagerly once she came a little closer.

"I'll come as soon as I'm awake." The younger boy replied.

"And I'll be waiting. Right here." Her son extended his hand, the way his father taught him, and Benvolio shook it without hesitation, both of them grinning ear-to-ear. The guest stepped away to run down to his aunt, but stopped halfway to turn back and wave goodbye.

"Goodbye, Mercutio!" he nearly yelled now, contrary to his quiet answers the day before.

"Have a good rest of the day, Ben." The other boy beamed.

Bartolomeo could say what he wanted. He didn't understand these things. The princess was sure the two of them were in for the long run with one another, and she needed to look no further than her husband for proof. Niccolò had been kind and just all their lives. Next to him, she felt free as a bird, for he did not tie her down. Rather, he was the nest to return to once she had had enough of flying. He was comfort and calmness. He was home. And as Caterina Escalus looked out of the tall and wide windows of her study, to watch the boys play in the garden with Valentine and Romeo joining them, she couldn't help, but smile. It seemed her son had found his nest as well. He just had to realise it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caterina and her husband's names borrowed from the real Caterina della Scala and her husband, sister to Bartolomeo I della Scala, whom the Prince in the play was (probably) based on. And you may ask, how come Merc's dad is the prince here? Well, just a personal headcanon. But more on that in the next chapter. See ya there~


	2. La nuit sur le balcon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend is a friend in happiness, and a friend in distress. A friend will march with you when you need to be brave, and stand by your side when you're afraid. You have your friends to protect and be protected by when times get rough. But what happens when things get complicated? When does a friend stop being just a friend? Benvolio has questions. And every question raises dozens of new ones.

Benvolio pulled his coat tighter on himself as he walked the dark streets of Verona. Thick clouds hid the moon and his beloved stars away that night, reminding him of Romeo. The young boy, too, was hiding, had been for a day already. His cousin walked the length of the city in vain. He was nowhere to be found. At last, the Montague decided to spend the night in the one place in Verona where he would surely be welcome: the royal palace. He sighed of relief as he finally saw the towers of the well-known building looming above the trees. He could barely walk by that point, and knew Mercutio wouldn't mind sharing some space with him - given he wasn't already sharing with someone. The thought alone made him shiver.  
  
The guards let him in immediately when they recognised him. They judged him silently for arriving so late, but Benvolio couldn't care less. He went in, nearly running down the corridors, taking the stairs three steps at a time until he reached his friend's door. As soon as he heard the slight creaking of the bed, he contemplated staying outside. It's always best to leave him to his devices after all. But there was a voice inside pestering him that he should go. Whether that was God or his own thoughts, he couldn't decide. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he opened the door and took some steps inside. No embarrassed screaming. That's good.

As he opened his eyes, he spotted his friend, as restless as he is when awake, tossing and turning. That's what caused the sounds. When a whine escaped his lips, however, Benvolio was forced to realise it was more than just restlessness. Mercutio, the one who feared nothing in this world, was having a nightmare.

The Montague ran to his bedside immediately. Seeing his friend turned completely pale nearly scared him, too. He reached out to touch him gently, shaking fingers resting against cold skin. "Mercutio, it's okay..." he whispered, even though he knew it wouldn't be of much help. 

The older boy suddenly grabbed his wrists, holding on with a tight grip. Benvolio gasped from the sudden action, but didn't give up just yet. He tried shaking his shoulders, first gently, then a little harder, pleading all the while, but the most response he got was a gut-wrenching scream, and the panting that followed. The midnight guest was beyond concerned. He had never seen Mercutio like that before. He could only think of one last solution, which _had to work_. 

After having freed his hands, he pulled his friend into his arms, cradling him slightly. "Come on, now... please..." he spoke into his shoulder. His body slowly stopped shaking as he held him, and in what seemed like an eternity, there was finally a response. He felt the hug being returned ever-so-slightly, and a sigh of relief immediately escaped his lips.

"Val...?" Mercutio asked in a shaky voice.

"Not quite." The younger boy smiled, and pulled away slightly to show his face. The Escalus' eyes went wide. "Hey."

"Hey..." he responded, snaking out of his arms. His deathly pale face seemed a little flushed, though it might just have been the lighting. "What brings you here at this hour?" he asked nervously.

"Will you be okay?" Benvolio answered the question with a question, searching for Mercutio's eyes who refused to look at him. 

" 'course. I'm splendid. Never been better." he lied, his breathing still jagged. "Did you come all the way here just to ask this? I've underestimated just how much you care about me." At least his smile was starting to seem genuine. He never lost that one. Well, almost never.

"And I've underestimated your ability to joke two minutes after waking from a nightmare." Mercutio's smile only widened.

"Oh, please, Ben." he waved it off with his hand. "Nightmares are normal. Consistent. There isn't much I can do against them." His eyes lit up, in that way they always did when he got an idea, once again reminding him of stars. He looked Benvolio up-and-down with a gaze that made him feel completely bare, even though Mercutio was the one without a shirt. It was quite the sight, to tell the truth. "You being in my bed at night however, that is something I could certainly do with on a more regular basis." he bit his lower lip.

Benvolio only laughed. "Mercutio-" he tried to get him to stop, but he was the one stopping when their eyes met. The true intentions beyond his behaviour shone through clear as day. However convincing his act was, in the end, it was all just an act.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd be inclined to think your intentions are... way past innocent." his tone got lower with nearly every word, speaking in a honeyed voice as he leaned closer to him. The Montague wondered which one was scarier - Mercutio afraid or Mercutio confident.

The young heir's cold hand rested against Benvolio's chest, who was, at that point starting to feel quite flushed from all the attention. Reminding himself of the other's true intentions of taking his attention away from the earlier events didn't seem to be working anymore. "Mercutio, enough." he told him, and cleared his throat. The only acknowledgement he got was a wide grin, before he continued.

"And why wouldn't I?" he fiddled with the buttons on the younger's shirt. "You, my dearest friend, are just as filthy as any of us. Aren't you...?" Their faces were only inches away. " _Benvolio..._ " The low, slightly raspy whisper of his name sent shivers down his spine. 

Mercutio leaned closer to press his lips to the younger's reddened cheek, only to pull away laughing. Benvolio felt his brain malfunction as he, too, started giggling uncontrollably, all the while trying to give his friend the coldest stare he could. "To hell with you!" he grinned, pushing the heir back into his bed, who, naturally, pulled him along. And there they were. Two young boys, laughing so hard their stomachs hurt in the middle of the night. 

"Let's go outside. I want to talk seriously." Benvolio told him once both of them had calmed down.

"How come?" Mercutio gasped, only slightly exaggerating his surprise. "Don't tell me you want to leave me!" 

The Montague's lips pulled into a patient smile. "Please. For me. Will you listen?" The heir put a hand on his to reassure him. 

"To you, always." 

* * * * *

"So, spit it out, then." Mercutio asked, leaning against the balcony railing, now fully clothed. "To what do I owe your visit?"

"To Romeo." The younger sighed. What he had to say had to wait a little, it seemed. "He hadn't come home all day, and I'm the only person in the entire household willing to pull my head out of my ass and start looking." He rested his forehead in his hands, earning a chuckle from his friend with his comment. "Thing is, he's nowhere to be found, his mother is nagging me, all the while there's some absolutely pointless drama among the handmaidens about some vanished underskirt, and I just... I had to get out of there."

Mercutio raised a brow at him. "And you came... here. Where you have... my family, whom I don't have to introduce to you, the squabbling servants, the arrogant guardsmen... Should I go on?" he asked, counting on his fingers. Benvolio cracked a smile.

"That might be so. But at least I know I have you, even if you make horrible jokes and try to get into my pants when you don't want to talk." He stepped a little closer to the heir, his expression becoming a little more serious. "And I want you to know you have my back, too. Always."

"How thoughtful of you." Mercutio put a hand on his shoulder. "But I've told you before. I'm selfish at heart. I enter people's lives and leave them in ruins. And there are battles I have to fight alone."

"There are. But this isn't one of them." They looked into each other's eyes for a little while. The older boy seemed nervous, probably the aftereffects of being caught with his guard down. He always loved attention, and looking invincible in people's eyes. But Benvolio knew what lied beneath the mischievious surface. Mercutio was a selfish man, that much was true, but not from the heart. He knew of the love that one held, when the heir let it slip. Towards his little brother, Romeo, sometimes his uncle... even towards Benvolio himself. But just why he hid it even before people who knew him well he could never understand.

Mercutio turned his back to him, elbows resting against the railing. "Ben, listen. When I said my nightmares are consistent, I meant it." he sighed. "I used to think I was fearless. That there was nothing or no one to stop me. Then my parents died on their way to Florence, and I started dreaming with them. Week after week, and eventually, night after night. I woke up panting and sweating each time, and it frightened me. Frightened me, that this is how fragile life can be. All you need is some rain and a steep enough hill, and it's over." he admitted. Benvolio listened silently. "All my life, I was taught to fight my fears to defeat them. And I am. I quarrel with the Capulets, flirt with my fate as if it were my lover, even though there is no way I could possibly defeat death without surrendering to it. What kind of man does this make me again?"

"An idiot." Benvolio walked close to him, and hugged him from behind. "Always fighting to survive is as good as slowly killing yourself. Life is short, yes, we can't change that. It can end any day, also true. But would you rather look back on a lifetime of enjoyment and success, or one of regret and anxiety? Lay low. Enjoy what you get, and... and leave your protection to me." he said, not really thinking before offering. This finally got Mercutio to turn around and look at him. "I know I'm not a born swordsman like you or Tybalt, but if that's what I have to do, I'll do it. Even if you ruin me in the process."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, eyes still wide.

"I don't want to lose you." he responded shyly, just loud enough for his friend to hear. He lowered his gaze to the ground, examining his shoelaces intently.

"Is that so?" Mercutio chuckled. All of a sudden, there were gentle fingers under his chin, lifting it up until Benvolio had no choice, but lock eyes with the heir, who regarded him with a fond smile. "Then I suppose I must have my royal guardian with me at all times, for his presence alone makes me feel much safer." The kind words brought a pink tint to the Montague's cheeks. 

"That can be arranged..." he muttered, looking at the now clear night sky as if it could give him confidence. Though he didn't quite understand just why Mercutio being so close made him so nervous. He felt nothing such before since they were friends.

The heir grinned at him briefly. "Just stay with me, my Benvolio. I'll take care of everything else." He didn't even have time to ask him why the possessive, before Mercutio's cold hands were cupping his cheeks. He perched up on his toes, and pulled the Montague a little closer to kiss his forehead. Benvolio's heart beat in his throat.

He had no idea what this was. Why this was. The heir had always been affectionate towards him, but never so much, not even when he wanted Benvolio to tell him something. Yet, he didn't dare to ask. He didn't know how. Instead, he told himself it was nothing. Brief kisses to the cheek or forehead, light touches, flattery. Nothing Mercutio's never done before, and they still felt different. Like something had changed between them overnight. 

The Montague knew all about Mercutio's... well, peculiar encounters with men, most of them older than him. He shrugged it off, labeled it as the mere curiosity of a young prince. Now that he thought it through a little more... it didn't seem all that impossible that his friend favoured them above the fairer sex. But the idea that he would choose _him_ above any other person he could have in Verona - and there was quite the list -, now that _was_ impossible.

He looked for Mercutio's eyes and found them darted at his lips. His heart sped up even more at the sight. Earlier, he knew it was teasing as he could still see the fear and sadness in his eyes. Now, he saw his stars gone. They had turned into flaming comets, burning with a fire sure to scorch him upon contact. 

The distance shrunk between them ever-so-slightly as the heir leaned closer. Benvolio found himself unprepared for what was coming. In his fifteen years, never once did he try his luck with anybody when it came to romance, though many have tried to persuade him to. Mercutio, however, had no shortage of various kinds of experience, despite being only a year older than him. So if there were anybody Benvolio would trust with his first, uncertain attempts, it would be his friend. Yet he was still scared. Scared they'd be seen. Scared he'd enjoy it too much and ruin what they had until now. Perhaps a little scared of falling in love.

The Escalus boy's thumbs caressed his cheeks, and he could already feel his warm breaths on his lips. That's when Benvolio decided to wrap his arms around him instead, and hide his face into his shoulder. He squeezed him tight, almost as tight as Mercutio had held his wrists merely half an hour ago, and felt the older boy freeze in his arms. He was disappointed, of course he was. But he had to understand his pace was a little too fast for Benvolio's liking.

He did. Mercutio's hands started stroking his back, a little slow, a little hesitant, but not mad. "I'm sorry." Benvolio muttered, not thinking he would hear.

"Don't be." came the hushed reply.

* * * * *

Benvolio woke seated the following morning, his back against the railing. There was a light snoring coming from the direction of his right shoulder, on which Mercutio had fallen asleep, clinging to the younger boy's arm, his hair falling into his face. For a split second, he was startled as he replayed the events of the previous night in his head, but then he remembered everything that happened after the rather awkward near-kiss. 

The heir didn't try again. Instead, all they did was sit and look at the stars above them. Unlike himself, Mercutio had spoken only once, to ask Benvolio to tell him about the constellations, the rest of the time he was completely silent. He let him go on and on with an excited grin for about half an hour, before falling asleep on him. The Montague was sure his friend was hurt by the rejection as he wasn't used to it, but he would've rather died than show it. He returned his smile each time Benvolio looked at him to see if he was still listening.

The younger glanced at him again. He seemed so peaceful, contradictory to his normal self Benvolio so loved, and at times, so hated. Love... strange word. It bore so many meanings, he had no idea which one he felt. But in the end, did it matter? He smiled, as he realised it absolutely did not. Because beyond friendship, romance, desire and whatnot, Mercutio was and always would be no one more than Mercutio. The only person in this world the Montague was comfortable having as close to him as he was now. And God forbid he ever let anyone take this from him.


	3. Démasquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Egyszerre sejti lelkem,  
> Hogy a Sors, mely a csillagokban csüng még  
> Ez éji bálon kezdi meg komor,  
> Szörnyű futását, és unt életem,  
> Mit a mellembe zárok itt, gonosz  
> Csellel korahalálba kergeti."  
> William Shakespeare - Rómeó és Júlia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a foreshadowing to the oncoming chapters in my native tongue. Anybody wanna take a wild guess at the meaning? ;)  
> •  
> Btw, just noticed we have crossed A HUNDRED HITS!!! Thank you so much guys~ I never expected this story to get so popular. Love you lots <3

Mercutio bade farewell to the embarrassed young girl by kissing the back of her hand, then walked away to join his companion at the nearest table. Benvolio handed him a goblet of wine immediately.

"So, how's Capulet's daughter at dancing?" The heir rather drank a generous amount than answer him. "You know, that yelp you let out when she stepped on your foot was really elegant, congratulations."

"Damn you." he cursed with a laugh. "She's a sweet girl, but a bit slow for me." 

"Or you're too fast for her. Too light on your feet. You're no bird, Mercutio." The Montague grinned. "Don't tell me you forgot everything I taught you." The older took another sip of the wine. From the lessons, he mostly only remembered Benvolio, and how good he was at leading, and disregarded the steps. It couldn't be much different from fencing, he thought then. But he was soon forced to find out he was dead wrong.

"Well, thank God there are other ways to sweep people off their feet, am I right?" he smirked.

"As always." responded Benvolio, as he raised his drink. Mercutio followed suit. "To your two left legs."

"And to your mouth that I'd much prefer shut." he grinned, the two of them clinking their goblets together. "Val can be sorry he went home so early." he said, once he finished his wine. "Judging by his ardent dislike of company, especially so of the fairer sex, isn't he by any chance your brother instead of mine?"

Benvolio only laughed. "Leave him be. He's practically still a child. And not everybody's like you." Before Mercutio could ask him to elaborate, they heard an all too familiar voice yelling, which made them turn in its direction. And there he was, he observed with a sour smile, Tybalt Capulet, his Prince of Cats. He seemed rather occupied with doing what all princes Mercutio had ever known did: shouting, the old Capulet being the unsuspecting victim. "Or him." Benvolio added.

"Thankfully." Mercutio replied immediately, giggling under his nose. "This should be fun." he claimed another goblet from the tablet, taking a rather large swig. "Oh, whatever might've got him worked up tonight?" Whatever it was, Capulet had better watch his back, he nearly added, for there was no one in Verona who knew Tybalt worked up better than Mercutio. 

* * * * * 

It didn't last very long, the two of them. A month, maybe two at most counting their frequent little rendezvous in dark, abandoned alleyways, all of this four years ago. 

Tybalt was no doubt heading towards some brothel when Mercutio saw him that night. He looked like a lost kitten wandering the moonlight streets of Verona in his eyes. It began with simple taunts, and Tybalt pinning him against a wall to silence him, and that's where it would've ended if it weren't for Mercutio kissing him out of the blue. His head was full of thoughts about a certain someone he could never have, so it only felt right to look for someone more approachable. It went so well he had to make up an excuse about the sudden appearance of 'shirt rashes' around his neck, which his brother hadn't let him forget since.

They met nearly every night after that, in Mercutio's chambers once the alleys started to bore them. Aside from the seductive growls and whispers used to start one another up, and the occasional insult or demand, they never spoke to one another. Tybalt got dressed and left the minute they were finished. Yet the heir enjoyed it like no other. The thrill of it all, the rough treatment, the feeling of belonging to someone. It pleased him, delighted him, intoxicated him more and more with each time. He even grew apart from his friends during this time, who suspected nothing, as that's exactly as much as Mercutio let them in on. 

One faithful night, the two had decided to spend some time together in the Capulet mansion. The heir was far too excited by his paramour finally giving in to meeting him there, he couldn't wait until they reached his room to kiss him. He thought the hallway was clear, until he spotted Rosaline staring at them with a confused expression as they parted. The girl walked away, and Tybalt took some steps to follow her, but soon realised it was in vain. Mercutio saw a combination of rage and fear burning in his eyes as he turned around, and found himself on the floor a moment later with a red, stinging handprint on his face, yelled at to leave. He didn't need to be told twice.

He tried to reconcile with him the following day, but the Prince of the Blade - as they called him then -, acted cold and hostile towards him, as if nothing had ever changed between them, and refused to even acknowledge the existence of their relationship. Because - as Mercutio should have known from the beginning -, for him, nothing had ever changed.

* * * * *

"He's worked up every day of his life, it's quite hard to distinguish individual reasons." Benvolio remarked, making the heir snap out of the whirlwind of bad memories. 

"In the chase to find love, he lost himself, it seems." he added perceptively, causing his friend to raise a brow. But before he could ask anything, they heard Romeo's name being said by the angry Capulet. "Sweet Jesus..." Mercutio sighed, looking at Benvolio. "Where is he?"

"In trouble?" The Montague guessed, making the other man chuckle, and lift his goblet for another sip. He nearly spat the wine out as his eyes found Romeo in the crowd, kissing the very Juliet Capulet he had danced with not long ago. The very Juliet Capulet who most probably didn't know how mad her cousin would get when he found out. He turned to Benvolio, who shared his shocked gaze. "Is that who I think it is?"

"I'm afraid so." Mercutio could only say so much. He pitied that girl, even if she stole the hearts of two men Mercutio had cared about (albeit in different ways). "Didn't he pine after Rosaline just this morning?" 

"Honestly, I stopped keeping track a while ago." Benvolio shrugged. "Come, let's get him out of here, before Capulet turns him into a throw rug."

* * * * *

The trio all collapsed as they reached the orchard surrounding the Capulet mansion, lying in the grass and laughing. 

"Please spare us of your fantastic ideas next time, Mercutio." The older Montague cousin told him breathlessly.

"Mine?" The heir propped himself up on one elbow. "Hey, I invited neither of you, you came here on your own!" he reached out, and ruffled Benvolio's already disheveled hair with his other hand. "False men, you Montagues." he sighed, earning more giggles from him.

"And what does you being one of us say about you, Mercutio dear?" Romeo asked, grabbing the older man's attention immediately.

"Oh, you just stay quiet over there, Romeo!" he raised a finger in warning. "Generous giver of kisses, you. How does it feel? Tasting the forbidden lips of a foe?" he cocked his head to the side. 

"Wouldn't trade it for the world." The young boy mused with a smile.

Mercutio looked at Benvolio in disbelief. "Did you hear that?" he laughed and turned back to Romeo, as long as he still had his friend's attention. Soon Juliet would leave him none of it. "What this girl sees in you I will never understand, my friend. But," he sprung to his feet with a new idea occupying his thoughts, "I might just go ahead and see it for myself."

The heir ran to him before he could think twice about what he was doing, and bent down, pressing his lips briefly to his. They parted, giggling at the way their masks clanged against one another as they kissed. 

"Not to discourage you, but I've met rocks with more delicacy." he teased him as he walked away, shooting a glance to the adorably stunned Benvolio. "Oooor maybe I just tried my luck with the wrong cousin. There happens to be a more tender Montague among us." he smirked. Benvolio would take it as a joke anyway, no need for confessions or rejections. Just a kiss, and Mercutio's senseless fantasies would finally stop for a while. Maybe this stupid longing would also go with them. It never lead to any good.

As he approached him slowly, thoughts and heart racing, the older Montague cousin snapped out of his shock, and jumped to his feet. He started running back in the direction where they came from, the heir following in his trail with a wide smile. He caught up to him moments later, grabbing him by the shoulder, and turning him around. At last, they faced each other, panting, but grinning nonetheless. Mercutio could see how flushed his friend's face was behind the mask, from the run or shyness, he couldn't decide. They stood there like that for a little, staring into each other's eyes, Mercutio's hands still resting on Benvolio's shoulders.

"May I?" he asked him, and waited for Benvolio to nod before he started leaning in.

"Mercutio, wait..." the younger breathed, eyes focused on something behind them. Mercutio pulled away again, furrowing his brows. "Where has Romeo gone?" he asked, making the Escalus turn around. The young boy had disappeared from where he was sat before. 

"I swear to God..." Mercutio sighed impatiently, mentally strangling Romeo. He took Benvolio by the hand, lacing their fingers together, and the two set off into the orchard again to find the lost boy. 

* * * * *

It must've been sometime around midnight when Benvolio and Mercutio took a breather at an orchard wall the former thought Romeo could have leapt over.

"Are we such a bad company that he ran along home from us?" Mercutio broke the silence. He took the younger's free hand in his as well. "Go now, good night. He must be sleeping." he caressed the backs of his hands as he spoke. But Benvolio didn't seem to have taken him seriously.

"You yourself don't believe what you say, do you?" he asked, and Mercutio just shook his head with a half-smile. "I'm sure I saw him here just now. He could've climbed over that." he nodded towards the wall. "Call him again."

"Calling? No." he said, eyes lighting up. "I'll conjure him, for our dearest friend has turned into a lovesick ghost tonight." Mercutio let go of the Montague's hands, and cleared his throat, winning himself some time to improvise a speech to entertain his partner. _Romeo must be miles away by now anyway_ , he thought. "Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover!" his shouting of descriptive words came to a halt as the heir erupted in laughter, quickly hushed by a giggling Benvolio. "Appear to us! Appear in the likeness of..." he stopped to think, "...a sigh!" he said, louder than it would've been appropriate.

"A sigh, really?" whispered Benvolio.

"Sssh!" Mercutio laughed shortly, before continuing. "Speak just a few words and I'm satisfied! Something! Anything!" And as the response never came, Mercutio stepped closer to Benvolio, whispering into his ear. "He hears us not, stirs not, moves not. Our good Romeo has died, it seems. But don't you weep for him, Benvolio dear, for I have another idea!"

"Of course you do." the younger smirked.

"I conjure thee, good ghost, by Rosaline's bright eyes! By her high forehead and her scarlet lip!" he began, as Benvolio rested his head on his shoulder, shaking from laughter. "By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thighs!" That is as far as the heir got without losing it himself. "And-... and everything in between!" For about a minute, neither of them could speak, or even breathe properly. "That thou appear to us in the likeness of thyself!" he finished as soon as he could.

Mercutio couldn't recall the last time he'd truly had that much fun, and had to laugh so hard his cheeks hurt. He glanced at Benvolio from the corner of his eyes as the younger was trying to compose himself, an absent-minded smile still on his face. He was right in saying life should be enjoyed. And there were already so many things he owed to him, but never properly said thank you for. He opened his mouth to try and express it somehow, but the Montague was faster.

"Hush now, Mercutio. You'll certainly anger him if he hears you." Oh. So that's how it is.

"Why would I? I'm only being fair and honest with my invocation, and conjuring him in his mistress' name is sure to raise him up. Or at least, some part of him." he winked, only to get slapped on the shoulder in response.

"Come, he's hidden himself well among the trees. His love is blind, and best remain in the dark." Benvolio said.

"With his aim, he could never quite hit the target. He won't start now." Mercutio agreed, a yawn cutting his words short. "Good night to you, Romeo. I'd rather sleep in my own bed, for the field is too cold for my taste." he looked at the Montague again. "Shall we go?"

"We might as well." Benvolio took his hand, much to Mercutio's surprise. "You'll never find him, who doesn't want to be found."

Their walk out of the woods was agonisingly quiet, and the heir's thoughts deafeningly loud. A million different things he'd wanted to say, but not one of them felt right. How could that night render him, who could never keep his mouth shut, speechless? What stronger force, god or star wanted it that way? 

"I'll take you home." The younger said at last. "If they know you were with me, they are less likely to nag you for staying out late."

"Thank you for the offer, my galant knight. I'll most certainly take it." smiled Mercutio.

* * * * *

They approached the royal palace, but instead of entering at the front, Mercutio lead his companion into the garden. He had other ideas for how the night should end. 

"So, field-bed it is after all?" Benvolio joked, as they reached a willow tree.

"I mind not where." Mercutio stopped under the tree, and took a step closer to him. "What I mind is that there's something we never quite got around to do." he said it, honest and open, the way he figured it would be best. "I should think the situation begs for a second attempt..." he pulled his hands free, and raised them to cup the younger's cheeks. 

The blushing Benvolio let him close, closer until their foreheads touched, his lips agape. The Escalus relished in the sight. He had seen many look at him with the same wonder he saw in the pair of hazel eyes slowly closing before him, but not one of them excited, and still calmed him the way his did. The man himself might've been the wonder. And Mercutio desperately yearned for more.

But before he could get it, there were fingers against his lips, and his stomach sunk. "Mercutio, we can't..." he began, and the heir stepped away.

"We could. But you're afraid. I know." he turned away. He understood him, of course it was hard for someone like him to defy what he'd been taught about relationships with other men. But why let him so close so many times, why let him believe he stood a chance to begin with if he never did? 

"Yes!" Benvolio yelled, making Mercutio face him again. "I am, I really am. Because..." he stopped to gather his thoughts, "I know who you are. I know how you are in your affairs: choose the person, get them in bed, forget their name. And here we are, you chose me for the night." The heir, who never thought much into this routine of his, was taken aback to say the least. "I want this, too. But I'd rather never call you mine if the price I pay for it is you forgetting me. I won't sacrifice what we have and lose you. Though by telling you this, I might already have." he looked near tears from frustration. Mercutio wanted nothing more than to tell him how incredibly wrong he was.

"Ben-" But as he began, he was immediately cut short.

"No, please, listen to me now." he sighed. "What I did on the balcony was not very brave of me. Something changed that night, and it took me quite a while to accept just what it was. On your behalf, I still don't know what's going on. Or why me out of all people. All I do know is that I love you. Perhaps I've loved you all my life without intending to, and as long as I'm alive, I will." he spread his arms. "There you have it. Wasn't what you expected, was it?" he smirked sadly.

Mercutio stood there with wide eyes, just staring at him. Taking it all in. Because there was no way, no way in hell he spent all those years trying to shut out feelings that were returned this whole time. "All along..." he muttered, a smile slowly creeping on his lips.

"All along... what?" The Montague asked. Mercutio practically leapt to him the next second, his arms around his waist, and lifted him up. The whole situation, given Benvolio was a good couple inches taller, was quite ridiculous, but in that very moment, nothing such mattered. The younger let out a surprised gasp as the heir started spinning him around. "I swear to God if you drop me, I'll-" he chuckled, but was put back to the ground before he could finish the threat.

Mercutio took a deep breath. "Why you? Because I adore you. That's why." he started, again trying to improvise a speech with at least as positive an impact as his jokes in the orchard had. Judging by the look in Benvolio's eyes, he was on the right track. "You've given me all I could've possibly asked for, never expecting any return. You became my closest friend, my partner-in-crime, and before I knew it, you became as dear to me as life itself. Don't you even consider I'd be able to forget the person who means everything to me." he took his hands. "I, indeed, chose you for the night, as you will, but there's a slight difference between you and my past lovers. That I intend on choosing you again and again for all the nights coming, if you let me."

The hazel eyes stared back at him, scanning his face, not really sure what to make of all this. Mercutio waited, uncharacteristically patient. He hadn't been doing much else for years, what's a few more minutes?

Their masks collided as Benvolio pulled him in swiftly, pressing his lips to his for the briefest of seconds, uncertain but still confident. The 'what did I just do' look on his face was evident even with most of it hidden, conjuring a fond smile on Mercutio's face.

"Let me help you with that." the older said, pushing the piece of plastic off his face. In return, Benvolio reached to untie his as well. "So much for our mask-ulinity, am I right?" he joked, causing a very much unamused look to appear on the other's face. 

"You are so damn lucky I love you." he shook his head.

Mercutio laughed, and decided to wait no longer to kiss him. The garden, the willow tree, and everything with them ceased to exist in the very second their lips touched. It felt akin to stepping into a room, and being engulfed in the warmth coming from the fireplace at long last after being outside in the freezing winter all day. Home. And the feeling only grew, when Benvolio returned it. He might not have had much experience in the ways of love, but it was more than enough to let the heir know that this time, he wouldn't be offering his heart in vain.

Even after having pulled away, they refused to stand apart from each other, their foreheads touching as they tried to catch their breaths.

"Why have you been robbing me of this for so long?" Mercutio asked curiously, pecking him on the lips. "How evil of you."

"Can't ruin me if I ruin you first, am I right?" replied Benvolio with a smirk, his arms snaking around the older's waist, who was absolutely dumbfounded by his sudden gain of confidence.

Mercutio licked his lips. "Pray tell, my dear..." he leaned in closer, "what else have you been hiding from me?"

"Plenty," responded Benvolio. His hands ran under Mercutio's shirt, earning a little gasp when he felt his fingers circling lightly against his skin. "I should think it's best we go look for them. Maybe there's some of it hidden in your bed." The heir's eyes widened. He had no idea his beloved had such a bold side to him. And oh, was he eager to explore it further.

They looked into each other's eyes until they erupted in laughter again, much like earlier. "What a divine man you are, Benvolio. I can't believe my luck." he smiled at him fondly, and pulled him in for another kiss. 

* * * * *

Mercutio woke to the rays of sunlight seeping in through the drawn curtains. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around, flinching out of habit when he saw someone lying beside him. But it wasn't just anyone, he reminded himself with a smile. He couldn't help, but press a kiss into his lover's disheveled hair, who stirred a little.

Sitting up, Mercutio noticed a piece of paper laying atop his nightstand. Somebody came inside during the night. Though it's not like the two of them had never slept in the same bed before, so it wasn't enough to raise suspicion. The heir took the note to read it, and recognised his brother's handwriting immediately.

_'Anima Ionathan conligata est animae David et dilexit eum Ionathan quasi animam suam.'_

_Finally, a choice I can wholeheartedly support. Took you two a while, considering you've loved him for nearly a decade now, though it's something I know you'd never admit to him. And never forget Benvolio loves you in return. Don't let him go. ~ V_

"I can't believe my brother opened a Bible for this..." he muttered, quietly laughing to himself.

"And I can't believe your brother knew about your feelings before I did." a groggy voice chimed in from his right. Mercutio jumped a little. So not only was Benvolio awake, he read the note as well... 

"Consider yourself special. I don't discuss just about anyone with my brother." he grinned. "Let's get ready. The day is young, and as pleasant as it would be to lie here with you for the entirety of it, we are not plants to spend the whole day in one place." He wanted to stand, but before he could, the younger grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "Ben. Come on."

"Just a second." Mercutio furrowed his brows, not really understanding why Benvolio was smiling at him. 

"What's going on?"

"I wanted to see more of you in this lighting. You look even more handsome now, from a lover's perspective." The first time somebody had called the heir handsome for reasons other than seduction, fueled by lust, a need to brag, or a hope of getting the royal family on their side.

"What did I do to deserve you?" smiled Mercutio fondly, leaning in to kiss him, lingering on like they had all the time in the world. The streets outside could really wait a little bit more. But such a blissful morning could never be long enough.

Little did Mercutio know that their first morning together would also be their last... for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latin Bible phrase Valentine quotes in his letter sounds like this in English: "The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." Jonathan is the son of king Saul, an enemy of David's. He goes against his father to help David multiple times, even nearly sacrificing his own life. He has no desire for his father's throne, and acknowledges David to be the true king, once expressing his wish to become his right hand man. He dies before that wish could become reality, and David mourns him, saying his love was dearer to him than the love of women. I thought it would make a nice little metaphor to Ben and Merc's relationship, so I added it.  
> •  
> And the Tycutio thing... I actually wrote a one-shot of their first alleyway encounter as I was working on this chapter, to figure out the dynamics between them. It's nearly not good enough to publish, but I just wanted to let you know it exists.


	4. Vivre, c'est se battre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should have listened. He should have kept his promise. He should never have left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, did you guys think the summary was about Mercutio alone? Read the chapter and come back. Think again.

That very same day's afternoon found Mercutio and his company walking the empty streets of Verona in the scorching summer weather. The only way any man could stay sane in that heat was by finding someplace to cool off. The market square had a fountain perfect for the occasion, and that's just where they headed.

The heir bowed to the statue surmounting the fountain as they arrived, making his lover and the other Montague men who followed them laugh. The monument was the work of his late grandfather, he recalled as he took a seat on the ledge of it, built before Valentine was even born. He very vaguely remembered both the process and his grandfather, but the memory of sitting with him in that very spot he sat now remained. He smiled seeing Benvolio join him - as he never left his side since the morning -, while the five other men in their company sat on the ground, at their feet, still deep in conversation.

"We should go back inside" Benvolio suggested, fanning himself with his hand. "Today's heat is sure to drive the Capulets out, and they just so happen to be a stone's throw away from us." he nodded towards the Capulet mansion, standing tall just a corner or two away from their location. "If we meet them, there's no way we could escape a fight. Mad blood only really stirs on hot days like this." Mercutio knew his lover was right. Yet he had other ideas. And he knew just how to convince him of them.

"Look who's talking about madness. The biggest troublemaker of us all." The Montagues whistled and laughed at the proclamation, Benvolio himself just rolling his eyes. "You are like one of those people that go drinking and slam their sword on the table, hoping no need of it, but draw it on the bartender after the second round, without, as they said, any need." he spoke while wildly exaggerating with his hands.

"Oh, really?" smiled his lover. "Am I like such a fellow?"

"Don't talk all innocent to me. I know who you are." he answered in a deeper, teasing tone. Hooting and laughter came from the Montague men, who didn't understand the subtext behind his words. Benvolio, however, was starting to blush slightly. Mercutio didn't think it was possible to love him any more than he already did, but got proved wrong in that very moment. "You are as hot a man as any in Italy, as aroused to be mad as mad to be aroused." he continued with a wide smile.

"Aroused to what exactly?" Benvolio returned the taunts, the older's eyes widening. He still wasn't used to his lover having a bold side.

The heir silenced the men in their company with a palm held out, and fired his response. "Ben, please. If there were two of you, soon there would be none, as you'd kill each other." he patted him on the shoulder. "You'd fight a man for having a hair more or less in his beard than yours. Quarrel with someone for cracking nuts only because your eyes are hazel. Your head is as full of combat as an egg is with yolk. Though I'm beginning to think whatever's inside might have already got scrambled by all the fighting."

Naturally, he was exaggerating a little. While his Benvolio was, indeed, impulsive as any Montague, he was more of a guardian than a fighter. Even as Mercutio stood up to bow to their 'audience', who cheered listenting to their taunts, the younger's smile remained genuine and patient. But when he stepped back to take his seat again, he felt hands against his chest. Benvolio's playful grin was the last thing he had seen before he was shoved into the fountain.

The so-called revenge caused raucous laughter amongst their company, and Mercutio, too, found himself giggling as he came up to the surface, moving his long, wet locks out of his face. The first thing he saw was Benvolio leaning towards him, offering a hand.

"Careful with the fiery insults before you get burnt, my love." he told him as he helped him to his feet, only loud enough for the two of them to hear. 

"I'm sorry. Stop me again, should I go too far." Mercutio whispered with a smile as he stepped out of the water. He turned to the Montague men. "Do you see what I'm talking about? And this wouldn't be the first time." he continued the taunts. "See this man?" he pointed at the chuckling Benvolio, who raised his hands in surrender. "He shouted at an old man for coughing and waking his dog. Fall out with a tailor for wearing his new waistcoat before easter, and another for tying his new shoes with old laces. And yet, he goes on and on about my quarrels!" he shrugged.

"All is free in love and war, Mercutio dear." Benvolio shot back, earning himself a fond look from the heir. "If I were as eager to fight as you, people would bet on my life lasting no longer than an hour and a quarter."

"An hour and a quarter, please!" he wanted to continue, but the words got stuck in his throat when he saw Benvolio watching something in the distance, behind Mercutio's back, a worried look on his face. He turned to look as well, and his smile immediately froze off his face.

Tybalt Capulet, sporting his best rapier hanging by his side, marched towards the fountain, a handful of Capulets in his trail. After his letter sent in the morning, it was clear as day whom he was looking for.

"Here come the Capulets." Benvolio proclaimed the obvious, his tone grim. Mercutio slid his hand in his, earning his lover's attention.

"I care not." he smiled, squeezing his hand.

The two of them kept looking into each other's eyes, as if to gather strength for what was about to come. But their moment ended the second they heard someone clear their throat behind them. 

Mercutio knew this look of Tybalt's, which he, too, had been the victim of before. The man was burning with rage, but his face, wearing the same cold and collected expression as always, gave away nothing of it. Only the eyes.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen" the Capulet greeted them. Mercutio clicked his tongue. "I'd like a word with one of you."

"That's it?" The heir shot him a piercing glare. "Only a word with one of us? Couple it with something. Make it a word and a blow." As the Montague men cheered, Mercutio's right hand slid down to the grip of his rapier to draw it. Benvolio pushed it off before he could.

Tybalt regarded them with a cold grin. "Gladly, once given the occasion." 

"I will give you nothing anymore." Mercutio replied instantly. "Find some occasion for yourself somewhere else." he occupied himself with looking at his rings to visibly ignore the Capulet. His eyes stopped at the silver bands on his right ring finger, the wedding rings of his late parents. His only remaining reminder of them. He smiled shortly, knowing that in every fight, he had them with him, no matter what happened.

Tybalt's deep sigh made him snap out of his thoughts. "Mercutio, you consort with Romeo-"

" _Consort!_ " he laughed, jumping up from the ledge. Interesting choice of words. "Do you think us musicians per chance?" he gestured at the men on the ground, and his lover, who'd stood up from the ledge himself, now standing behind Mercutio. "Well, then. If you make us into musicians, let the people hear some symphonies!" he unsheathed his rapier, rejoicing in hearing the gasps that followed. Even the stone cold Tybalt had been caught off-guard. "Here's my fiddle bow. This will make you dance! Consort. Jesus Christ..." he shook his head with a grin. 

Before the Capulet could decide, Benvolio ran between the two of them, ready to stop them, should either launch at the other other out of the blue. 

"Gentlemen, please. We are in public. Either withdraw to somewhere more private, or discuss this reasonably, like adults." he tried his very best to sound convincing. But there were no signs of surrender from either party. "Better yet," he turned to Mercutio, putting a hand on his shoulder in one last attempt, "let us go home, Mercutio. All eyes are on us." His beloved, ever the peacekeeper. Too bad there was never any peace to keep in Verona in centuries.

Mercutio passed him by, extending his free arm to try and shield Benvolio from harm. "Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for anyone's pleasure." 

Tybalt growled, and was about to draw his weapon, when someone shouted "No!" in the distance. Mercutio's heart started pounding heavily when he recognised Romeo in the figure running towards them. He was aware the boy was not among the smartest of Verona, but even he should've known the market square was no safe place for him to be at the moment. That kid had an extraordinary sense of finding trouble, Mercutio noted mentally with a sigh.

"Enjoy the rest of the day, sir. Here comes my man." The Capulet turned away from him, those hatred-filled eyes on Romeo.

"I don't see your name on him." Mercutio retorted immediately. But his words fell to deaf ears. He lowered his sword hand.

Romeo wore a concerned expression when he reached them. Tybalt, however, was grinning as he walked to him. "Romeo." he practically spat his name. "The hatred I feel for you can afford no better term than this - you're a scoundrel." The Capulet men cheered, and Mercutio felt ready to attack and stab their so-called 'Prince of the Blade' (hah, as if) in the gaping hole where his heart should've been. Cats have nine lives anyway. But before he could have done anything, steady arms held him back. He didn't even need to look back to know it was Benvolio.

"Tybalt, the reason I have to love you clouds the rage such a greeting would wake. I am no scoundrel." Romeo answered calmly, head held high. "Goodbye now. I see you don't truly know me." he turned away to walk to Mercutio and Benvolio. That angered the older man even more.

"This doesn't excuse the ways you've hurt me! TURN AND DRAW!" he shouted, making Romeo flinch before facing him again.

"I never hurt you. On the contrary, I love you more than you think, for which you'll know the reason very soon. Until then, good Capulet - which name is as dear to me as my own -, I say let's leave it at that." Some would have called Romeo brave. Mercutio, in that very moment, thought him a goddamn fool. Trying to make peace, or even just truce with a Capulet would have been equal to signing his own death wish. Yet, the young Montague offered his hand to Tybalt for a handshake. 

Romeo, at seventeen, was as much a child as Mercutio's own brother. Even more so, him being a month younger. He cared for him all their lives as if he were his own flesh and blood. And now, he would not watch him throw his life away without even knowing it. "Oh, calm, dishonourable, vile submission... the blade shall put an end to it..." he muttered under his breath.

The silence in the market square was suffocating. Mercutio had enough of it. He struggled out of Benvolio's arms, and ran to them, rapier drawn. "Tybalt, rat-catcher, you! Walk with me if you dare!" he shouted, a daring grin on his lips. Just the two of them. The way it started. The way it was meant to end.

The Capulet looked annoyed and indifferent with his offer. "What do you want from me?"

"Oh, good Prince of Cats, nothing, but one of your nine lives. I'll go ahead and take that, and decide on the rest depending on how you treat me. Draw now, will you? Hurry, before my sword will find its way in one of your ears and out the other." Tybalt's smile was a cold, slightly vengeful one. Mercutio's hold on his rapier's grip got tighter. No going back now. 

"Well, sir." The Capulet unsheathed his weapon. "I am for you." 

As the two saluted one another, the way they did when they were fencing partners, Mercutio heard Romeo's voice calling to him in the distance. "Mercutio, please! Put that away!" he begged. But it was no use. The two men already stood in their starting stances, with no intentions of backing away.

"Come, sir. Your passado." The heir said, and their duel began.

Tybalt launched forward immediately, Mercutio dodging his attack by stepping to the side. He laughed to himself as the Capulet nearly ran into the fountain. "Is this still your best opening move?" 

"Not much has changed since we were children. You have to admit, it works." responded Mercutio, free hand on his hip. For the briefest of moments, he saw an amused smile on his opponent's lips before he attacked again. The Capulet aimed his next thrust towards his face. Mercutio crouched immediately, parrying with his blade raised horizontally above his head. This won him just enough time to stand up. "My, my, the prince has turned a bit rusty?" he laughed.

"Shut up!" roared Tybalt, lunging at him. And the heir parried. And again. And again. He didn't recall the man ever being this monotone a fencer. To be fair, it must have been hard to fence blind, with all that rage clouding his vision. Without his unpredictability, his advantage of being left-handed felt like nothing. He handed Mercutio the victory on a silver plate.

"What a shame. I was looking forward to this." Mercutio tutted. He beat Tybalt's blade out of the way with a swift move, and stepped closer, arm extended. He held the Capulet at swordpoint, thinking about how easily he could slash his throat and put an end to this duel with just a single flick of his wrist. "Clear your head, Tybalt. This is not worthy of you." he remarked with a grin.

The Montague men cheered. Mercutio turned his head to smile at them, but when he looked back, Tybalt was no longer standing in front of him. He stood to his right, blade pointed at his neck. "Clear your head, Mercutio. This is not worthy of you." he smirked. 

"Copycat." The heir bit back, but his insult disappeared among the Capulet screams.

Both of them took a step back, once again assuming the starting stance. Their eyes interlock, ready to attack, but just before they could, Romeo ran in to hold Tybalt back, Mercutio himself feeling arms aroud his chest. He turned around, not particularly glad to see his lover in that very moment.

"Ben, let me go. There is a duel going on, if you haven't noticed. I don't want you hurt." But Benvolio didn't budge.

"What I have noticed is two grown men bickering like children, and getting themselves into quite the trouble." he retorted. As expected, he put himself into the role of the guardian again, without having to. He should have known Mercutio was in no danger, with his opponent so disoriented.

"Please, stay out of this." he asked.

"Please, put your weapon down." The younger's hands reached to cup his cheeks. "Tybalt matters not, today, or any other day. He's not worth an injury. Come home with me. Please." Mercutio's lips curled into a smile at the plead. He didn't deserve the man, that much was for sure.

"My love, don't torment me so. Nobody will get hurt, I promise you. We'll settle this quick, then I'm yours to do whatever." he leaned forward, making their foreheads touch. It didn't matter, if anyone saw. What mattered was the smile on his beloved's worried face. The sparkle in his eyes. For him, a hundred, even a thousand duels would have been worth fighting.

There was a shout. "Bastard!" yelled Tybalt, and Mercutio turned to see the Capulet shove Romeo to the ground. That was the moment their duel stopped being a simple bout between two childhood fencing partners. Tybalt could insult Mercutio all he wanted, he could take it. He couldn't hurt him anymore. But he would not let him lay a single finger on those he loved ever again.

He broke out of Benvolio's arms and rushed to help his friend up, not letting his guard down for a second. When he made sure the kid was okay, he walked close to his opponent, looking at him with a piercing glare. 

"Look at you, kitten." Tybalt flinched at the last word. "Such a pretty face. Wonder what Juliet will say when she sees you staggering on home, all bloody and wounded." 

"You're going over the top, Mercutio!" The Capulet said through gritted teeth.

"And so what? You'll kill me?" he reached up to stroke his hair. "I'll be dead before I lose to you." he said, the cocky expression on his face not changing even when Tybalt shoved his hand away.

"Life is no theatre, when will you understand?! Grow up!" he shouted.

"Is it not?" Mercutio cocked his head to the side. "I must have forgotten, with you playing the misunderstood villain so well." he shrugged, turning to the hollering Montagues. Even the tense Benvolio cracked a supportive smile.

"If I'm playing, so are you. The rooster ruling over the farmyard, the disgraced little poet who thinks himself above us... anything to mask the sins you can no longer wash off, am I right?" said the man who was guilty of the same sins.

Mercutio's laugh was devoid of any humour. "At the very least, I'm a versatile enough actor to play multiple roles." he crossed his arms. "You know, Tybalt, I was wrongful in calling you 'kitten' back in the days of our partnership. I should have known, that you're worth no more than a rat in my farmyard. It fits more, with you scaring women off and all..." The perfect _coup de grâce_. The Capulet was sure to lose his head now. The way was clear.

"Shut your mouth!" Tybalt roared, raising his rapier. "Behold the king of words, who would rather run his mouth than admit he can't fence! Continue the duel if you dare! Fight like a man if you still have the dignity!" Mercutio paid no attention to his words. He reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a worn ribbon, and tied his still damp hair back into a ponytail.

"You want a real fight?" he raised his rapier as well. "Come and earn it."

Tybalt attacked immediately, their swords crossing. Neither of them was willing to break contact, in hopes of pushing the other to the ground. But when that didn't seem to be working, the Capulet stepped back, sweeping his hair out of his face. Their little game of attack-parry had continued, but this time, Mercutio didn't think twice to counterattack. In the midst of the clanging of blades, and the worried looks, he didn't notice that he, himself, got carried away.

In the perfect moment, the heir pulled his ace move again, and beat Tybalt's blade away. As he did, the point of his rapier slashed the sleeve of his opponent's shirt open, grazing his skin. "Touché." was all Mercutio could say, a grin on his lips. After that, Tybalt's every thrust was noticably quicker and more agressive, and the heir shielded himself diligently from them. 

He heard Romeo's voice clear even in the shouting crowd. The boy begged Benvolio to help him break the duellers apart. He never listens, Mercutio concluded while lunging at Tybalt. He could only hope Benvolio would be true to his word as he always was.

"Gentlemen, please stop the fight! Tybalt! Mercutio!" He should not have come here. "The prince forbade fighting in Verona!" He should not have advocated for peace in a place where even the prospect of a truce was impossible.

The Escalus' heart pounded in his mouth when he saw the young Montague break out of the crowd from the corner of his eyes, and run towards them, despite Benvolio's best efforts to hold him back. Had he lost his mind completely?

"Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!" He ran between the two of them, arms held out. Mercutio saw the look in Tybalt's eyes. He knew what was coming, and where he was aiming. The heir stepped forward and pushed the boy out of the picture, but he got too close. Under Romeo's arm, he felt his opponent's rapier burying itself into his side. 

Pain. Pain was the only thing he could think about, the only thing he felt in that very moment. Mercutio gasped for air, eyes wide. His fencing master told him he had the best sense for parrying and defense among all of his students, and he centered every duel he had ever fought on this one thing. Never any major injuries. Now, as he felt Tybalt pull out his rapier slowly, agonisingly slowly, for the first time in 21 years, he was completely helpless.

He looked up at the Capulet in front of him, bloody rapier hanging limply in his hand. The unyielding eyes that burnt with hatred before stared at him, but did not see. His Prince of Cats was once again, like that first night they had met in the alleyway, no more than a frightened kitten. Killing Romeo was something he never would have forgiven him, but this... it was written clear on his face he didn't want this. But the damage was done. And both of them knew exactly what would happen next.

"Off you go." Mercutio told him, only loud enough for Tybalt to hear. The Capulet opened his mouth to respond, but only nodded instead. Sheathing his rapier, he ran away from him, back towards the Capulet mansion, his men following in his trail.

The Montagues cheered, and Mercutio slowly turned around to see them, free hand pressed against his wound. They didn't know yet. Benvolio's smile was brighter than the sun, and the heir's eyes teared up looking at him. He would be the reason of that smile disappearing soon. He would be the reason Tybalt gets executed for breaking the law. 

Mercutio Escalus, the first of his name, firstborn son of Prince Niccolò, heir to Verona's crown was certain of only two things in that moment. The first, he was going to die. And the second, that Verona had seen many dark days. But none of them as grim as the ones to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The square mentioned in this chapter was modelled after Piazza delle Erbe in Verona, with an actual fountain. And, indeed, a man named Cansignorio della Scala had built it in 1368 - about sixty years after the reign of Bartolomeo I, our supposed prince during R&J. For the sake of fun, we're just gonna pretend it existed there and then.


	5. La vie n'est pas un théâtre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm selfish at heart. I enter people's lives and leave them in ruins. And there are battles I have to fight alone."  
> "There are. But this isn't one of them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OVER TWO HUNDRED HITS. You guys are crazy. I love you (3000). 
> 
> Btw, my dumb ass accidentally published the chapter too early. No worries, now it's perfectly complete~
> 
> EDIT: Okay, I published it too early twice. Get some sleep at night, kids. Don't be like me.

Mercutio's hand clutched at his side, trying to stop the blood that already begun staining his shirt. His rapier fell from his hand, meeting the ground with loud clanging.

"I am hurt..." he laughed to himself. The cheering and hollering crowd seemed to quiet down slightly. "This is it, curse both your houses!" he said everything coming to his mind, hoping it would bring relief. His knees buckled slightly. Not one Montague took him seriously. 

Benvolio walked to him, still smiling. "What, are you hurt?" he laid a hand on his shoulder. Mercutio grasped it immediately, holding on for dear life. His lover regarded him with furrowed brows. 

"Oh, just a little scratch. But it's enough." he smiled at him in reassurance, but knew him to be smart enough that he wouldn't believe it.

Romeo, too, approached them. He had his back towards them by the time Tybalt stabbed him. He couldn't have seen it either. "Get yourself together. It cannot hurt so much." he said. 

"No." Mercutio shook his head, still laughing, and tried to straighten himself with a tight grip on Benvolio's hand. "It's not as deep as a well or wide as a church door, but it will serve." he stepped away and turned towards the other Montague men, arms spread. "Ask me for tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man!" he chuckled. At first, he didn't understand why nobody was laughing with him now. He ran his eyes over his friends. Every single one of them was staring at the growing blood stain on his shirt. 

His legs gave in. The heir took a tumble into the dust like his rapier did, albeit with much less noise and much more pain. Both Montague cousins screamed his name when they saw, rushing to him immediately. Benvolio pulled him into his lap without further ado, Romeo kneeling beside them.

"Curse your families... why in the name of God did I let this cat prince graze me with his claws..." he muttered breathlessly. His eyes wandered to the young boy holding his hand. "Oh, Romeo... you're always in the worst place at the worst time... why did you come between us, huh?" he asked. "See this? Little scratches like this can cost a person their life!" he laughed. Again, nobody laughed with him. 

"I wanted well." Romeo said, his voice shaking as he spoke. Always crying so easily, too emotional, too innocent. And yet already fighting his parents' war.

"I know." The heir told him, reaching up to caress his face. Yes, he was careless and impulsive, and Mercutio very much would've yelled at him were it not for the occasion of his imminent death, but the boy was as good as his own brother. They couldn't part in anger. "Don't apologise. That's a child's thing to do, and your Juliet loves a man." he smiled. "Love her, love her with all you are, Romeo. She can still give you what I hadn't got enough time to enjoy." he heard a quiet whimper as he told him that. There was no question who else was also holding tears back.

Mercutio didn't want to die. Not without saying goodbye to his brother and uncle, maybe even Paris. Not without kissing his lover one last time. Not without seeing just a day of peace in Verona's streets. The precious seconds ran by, and he didn't want to die. Not now. Not here. Not here. 

"Benvolio..." he breathed, feeling his chest tighten from the panic. "Help me into some house or I shall faint..." The Montague obliged immediately, helping him to his feet, Mercutio's arm around his shoulder.

"Can you walk?" his lover asked.

"I hope so." he grunted. He resented the idea of Benvolio carrying him like he was some weak damsel-in-distress, even if the steps he took would be his last ones. His legs felt like they were made of lead when he started walking. Every move felt like another stab, pain jolting through his entire body like lightning. "Curse your houses for making worms' meat of me!" he tried yelling to the shocked Montagues one last time, but even his voice was devoid of power, the words burning on his tongue. Life stripped him even of his most effective weapon. He couldn't help but think this was truly the end.

The destination Benvolio led him towards couldn't have been farther than five minutes away in hindsight, but it felt like an eternity. When Mercutio wasn't voicing breathless complaints, he bit his lower lip to ground himself. It wasn't a good idea. Just more pain. "Why can't I just die already...?" he asked while he still had a voice to speak.

"Nobody is dying. Neither will you. Not today." Benvolio answered quietly. As Mercutio lifted his eyes to look at him, he got scared for a moment. His companion's face looked as if he had just taken the weight of a world on his shoulders - serious, grim and infinitely fatigued. His reddened eyes shone from tears he didn't let drop. God, he looked so worried. It seemed to be a Montague thing to think with their hearts instead of their heads in every second of the day. The heir concluded the obvious: he had fallen in love with an angel walking the face of this cruel Earth. "This is it. Just a few steps more." his angel told him.

But even just those few steps more were too much to take. The nearly paralyzing pain, the burning, the stinging, the agony... Invincible Mercutio toppled under their weight, nearly dragging his lover down with him. His fingers dug into the dirt beneath. The heir wondered how much time he had left. Probably not more than thirty minutes. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-

He lost count when he found himself sitting with his back against a wall, Benvolio leaning over him. "Don't you leave yet. I'll be right back. You're okay." he told him in a hurry, and bent down to press a chaste kiss on his lips. That was it. That was goodbye. That was the last time he would see the only man who mattered right now, the very last time he could still hear his voice and it would be over. And he didn't know. He didn't know yet and if he left now he'd never know.

"Benvolio!" Mercutio cried out with everything he had left. The Montague turned back from the doorway, looking at him curiously. "I love you. Did you know?" he asked, resting his head against the wall. The words felt right to say after avoiding them all his life. His lover's smile was soft and gave him every comfort he needed.

"And I love you too. Stay with me. Just a second." he assured him. Mercutio had a hard time following him with his eyes as he went inside, his eyelids heavier with every blink. It arrived. Death, lurking just around the corner of the house. It seemed to be toying around with him a little, like a predator with its prey before devouring it. Eternities don't last too long after all. Beautiful fantasies like dreams and sensations like love last even shorter. There are only two things definite in this world. A person lives, and they die. And death was already here, knocking on Mercutio's door, standing in anticipation, impatient, but waiting.

He heard faint voices coming from inside - one Benvolio's and one a woman's - as he took one last peek around the corner at the market square, still clearly visible from his spot. As he turned back, the houses and the nearby church, the loudly chirping birds flying away above him, they finally ceased their spinning, only to start fading to black. This was the end. And Mercutio had no choice but to face it, even if he was afraid of what was coming. He'd had enough of the slow torture and all the pain. He just hoped his parents would be waiting on the other side to welcome him after so long.

* * * * *

There was yelling in the distance. It got progressively louder as everything reappeared. The houses and the church and even the birds, flying back towards the tree in front of him. Everything that bade him farewell when the world turned black. Heaven? No. If it was, Mercutio's head wouldn't hurt so bad even still. Did that mean...

He tried to move, only to be pressed right back down again. "Well, good morning, young lord. Did you sleep well?" he heard the voice of the same woman who spoke to Benvolio. He turned his head to face her, and was surprised to recognise the seamstress who used to make clothing for his family a while back. Signora Martina, if he remembered correctly. She had retired since then, but it seemed her sewing skills worked just as well on wounds as they did on fabric. The heir looked down at his wound, now sewn shut, waiting to be bandaged. So what happened wasn't a dream. But then... how could he still be alive? 

"Signora..." he began, but didn't quite know what to ask first.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, giving us a scare like that. You're lucky the wound was relatively shallow, although some nerves got slightly damaged. It might take a couple of days to recover. I can't imagine what knocked you out, you hadn't lost that much blood. Probably the shock." she explained, cleaning her needle. "That Montague boy who brought you here was devastated, the poor thing. He ran off before I could tell him you were still breathing." Oh no... no, no, no. That can't be. Mercutio said a quick prayer his beloved wasn't the one still yelling not too far away. "I can tell you, I've never seen even the most loving of husbands mourn their late wives like he mourned you, and in my days, I've seen a lot of death in these streets. You should be glad to have a... partner like that."

"And where is he now?" he asked impatiently. 

"He ran back where he came from." she said, rummaging through her supplies. And that's when Mercutio began to hear steel clang against steel aside from the yelling he tried to ignore. The market square.

He peeked around the corner to look, and immediately regretted it. He even rubbed his eyes to make sure he saw it clearly. He recognised the duellers. The taller one in black, lunging about with cat-like reflexes was the very Tybalt who defeated him not long ago. His opponent was none other than Romeo. Mercutio's heart skipped a beat when he saw him. This had to be a mistake. Some form of cruel hallucination on his way to hell. This wasn't happening. Not him. Not Romeo.

Benvolio stood just beside them, sword drawn. He looked ready to join in any second. This was all because of him. All because they thought him dead. He had to tell them now before either of the three were harmed. But the second he stood up, a stab of pain surged through his body again, forcing him back on the ground with a groan.

"By God, not yet, young lord! You have to rest before going anywhere!" The signora reprimanded him.

"I have to go!" he said, trying to stand again, before the seamstress pulled him back down. "Signora, I'm very thankful, but I can't stay!"

"I hear them, too. But there is nothing you can do. Not in this state." Mercutio wouldn't accept an answer like that. Hands against the wall, he struggled to his feet, biting his lip and tasting blood.

"Watch me." he hissed. With the first step, his knees buckled, his hands balling into fists. He stepped again, nails digging into his palms, but it was no use. He found himself on his knees again.

Meanwhile, Romeo and Tybalt's duel only got more intense. The two of them fought up close with long, violent slashes, and not one of the other Montague or Capulet men tried to intervene. They knew better now. And it only took a stab.

Or two. Multiple. Everything happened so fast, Mercutio barely had time to register what was happening before his eyes. Romeo charged right at his opponent, grabbing him by the hair and shoving him to the ground. The Montague men were furious, all of them yelling to try and bring the boy back to his senses. Mercutio himself was screaming, but it was in vain. Before Tybalt could stand up to defend himself, Romeo already buried his rapier into his back. Once. Twice. Three times. He shouldn't have come back, that idiot. He got himself killed, for something he didn't even commit. He was dead. And Mercutio knew well that somewhere, some part of him would miss the fights they had shared. And him along with them.

He watched Romeo drop his weapon, as if he only now realised what he had done. He looked up, and for a moment, Mercutio thought the boy could see him. It wasn't long before Benvolio came to his senses and ushered his cousin away. Romeo, who grew up in front of his eyes. Romeo, who killed a man for him. Romeo, who would definitely be executed for this. 

The heir sobbed with his forehead against the ground, his mind on the chain reaction Romeo's death would start. The families would jump at each other's necks. The Capulets for a Montague murdering their heir, and the Montagues for their son being getting executed for taking revenge. Revenge for something that didn't even happen. Neither men were guilty in this situation. The only criminal was the Escalus heir himself, who survived as men died because of him. And these two wouldn't be the last - in the uprising that was sure to come, many more lives would be claimed. And Benvolio? He didn't even dare think of what would happen to him. One thing was sure - Mercutio would never be able to look him in the eyes again after all this suffering he had caused him. He warned him at the very beginning that he'd ruin him, but the younger didn't listen. This was the price they both paid for it.

"There was no other way." he heard Signora Martina's voice, making his already swiftly pounding heart jump. He didn't think she was watching. "If this is how God intended, we must accept it."

"God doesn't care!" he slammed his fists into the ground. "If he did, I would have been able to tell them I was alive!" That's when he realised. They didn't know. And if they saw him, a 'dead' man walking among the living, they'd know Tybalt died in vain. He'd make his family as well as his own self into targets. "Nobody can know." he muttered, raising his head and staring at the dirt below in shock.

"Pardon?" The signora answered.

"If they do, nobody makes it out alive. Nobody..." Mercutio crawled to his feet slowly. "I can't stay here... if they find me it's over..." he raised his widened eyes to the old seamstress as he tried to catch his breath. His chest felt tight, as if a thousand rocks were laid upon it, knees buckling again. "Get me out. Please, if my family had ever mattered to you, get me out of the city!" he pleaded. "Venice would be perfect. Aunt Costanza has a mansion there. She could spare me a room. Nobody would ever know." he thought out loud. He had to leave now or else he'd never get there.

"Young lord, would you please tell me what this is all about?" he heard her voice fade progressively as the world turned hazy in his eyes again.

"You should have left me for dead..." he whispered finally, and fell back down for the manyeth time that day.

* * * * *

Mercutio woke in an entirely unfamiliar kitchen, one he could only assume belonged to the signora who had since managed to patch up his wound. But he had little time to sit up and explore his surroundings from the table he lied on until now. He heard a sigh of relief, and soon found himself with an armful of someone.

"Ben...?" he asked, still a bit dazed.

"You wish." The heir's heart jumped hearing his brother's voice. He returned the hug immediately. "I was with uncle when they broke him the news." Valentine said as he pulled away. "I knew it couldn't be true. My idiot brother wouldn't let himself die from the hands of a Capulet. We went to the market square, and lo and behold, two corners away, I saw an old seamstress trying to lift your sorry unconscious ass off the ground." The way he said it, everything seemed so simple and light. It even earned a laugh from Mercutio, even though it hurt slightly.

"Good thing all old ladies have such chi _val_ rous gentleman to rush to their rescue." he rolled his eyes.

"Well, somebody had to. Benvolio ran off somewhere. Though if Capulet's wife called me a liar, I'd probably disappear too, before she thinks of more creative adjectives. You know how she gets when she's having a fit. But worry not about your beloved. I take it he's resting off Romeo's banishment." The older's eyes widened.

"Banishment?"

"Yes. Uncle took mercy on him, most probably because of you. He's on his way to Mantua as we speak." It felt like the weight on Mercutio's shoulders fell off with just these few words. Maybe, just maybe there was a chance things could go right from here. "And what do you want to do now that you're dead?" his brother asked.

"Remember Aunt Costanza with the mansion in Venice? I'll ask her to take us in for... most probably the rest of our lives." he chuckled, recalculating his plans out loud. "After all, the citizens of Verona would find it rather odd that a corpse is suddenly walking among them. But I'll only stay for a week at first, to make sure we have a place to go."

Valentine regarded him with a strange look. "We as in... you and me? Because I'm not going anywhere near that city. Too busy for my liking." Mercutio smiled at him fondly.

"I know. We as in Benvolio and I." The younger went silent for a few seconds there. Was he surprised? He had every right to be. "I want to give him time to process. Be alone a little bit. If I went up to him now, and asked him to run away with me, he'd think me a maniac."

"He already does. And still, he slept with you. Which makes him no less of a maniac." Valentine proclaimed, earning himself a slap on the shoulder. "Do what you will. But be mindful of his feelings as well as yours." 

"Since when are you such an expert on all things romantic?" grinned Mercutio.

"The library only has so many useful books to read. Once you run out of those, all that's left is romance." he leaned back in his chair. Him and his books - now that was the real romance, the heir thought. 

"Oh, you poor thing. Wouldn't hurt you if you peeked out of your room every once in a while and hung out with us." he said. It didn't really hit yet, that his triumvirate with the Montague cousins was no more.

"Yeah. Look how well that served you." His brother glanced at the bandage around his torso, Mercutio following suit.

There were a few seconds of silence after that. Neither of them really knew what to say, until the older had an idea.

"There is something I'd like you to have," he began. "You know, after mother and father died, I kept their wedding rings as a kind of memoir. I think it's only right if I give you one of them." he smiled, and glanced down at his right hand. But when he did, he noticed that only the one with the gemstone, his mother's ring was still on his finger. The plain silver band his father had worn once was gone.

Mercutio searched his pockets. The table. Even the ground, though he nearly fell off in the process. But the ring was nowhere to be found.

"What's wrong?" His brother asked him quietly.

"I lost it." the older said, still frantically searching. Valentine placed a hand on his, which stopped him in his tracks. He looked at the boy with sorrow in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Hey. That ring might not be here right now, but you are. And to me, that's all that matters." he smiled. 

Mercutio looked at his brother in that moment, and no longer saw the little boy asking him when his lessons would be over so they could play. Not even the little bigger boy visiting him in the middle of the night with concern on his face, attempting to somehow console him after a nightmare. The years had passed, and with them, Valentine had grown up, too. And the heir couldn't be prouder of the person he had become. 

He leaned forward to wrap his arms around him tight, no words needed. Heaven knows, after everything he'd been through that day, and everything that was still to come, he needed that. Something, anything to pause time for a little while and help him forget. Someone he could count on through thick and thin. 

"You know," Valentine began when they parted, "now that we have some time while you gather strength, there's something I'd really like to know." he smirked. "How on earth did you step up your game so well last night?" Mercutio's eyes lit up just thinking about it, lips pulling into a smile.

"Actually, Benvolio was the one to start it..." he laughed, and began his detailed retelling of the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. But I hope Valentine finally appearing after 4 chapters of constant mentions makes up for it. I must say, I love working with the kid. Pay attention to him, he's gonna be important in the next one.


	6. Comment lui dire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both men, who had ever loved Mercutio, still have something to tell him.

_Dear brother,_  
_There is something you must know before returning to Verona. I'd advise you to take a seat before reading the rest of the letter._  
  
_The duty is mine to inform you with a heavy heart, that your friend Romeo, along with his beloved Juliet have joined Tybalt in the afterlife, as well as Lady Montague and our cousin Paris._  
  
_Their children's death had at long last warmed the hearts of the lords Montague and Capulet, and they made peace with one another._  
  
_Verona's been burnt to ashes by the tragedy, and is now to rise from its ashes. I sincerely hope you can join us and witness these changes yourself. We await your return impatiently._  
  
_My most sincere condolences,_  
_V_

Benvolio had been hiding in his room for days, still trying to process the tragedy that unraveled around him. Part of him was still convinced it wasn't true. That he'd wake up on Monday morning in Mercutio's bed, blissful and well-rested, still seeing in the rose-coloured shades of love. But no matter how often he went to sleep trying to wake up, each time he was faced with the cruel reality.

The nightmares... now he knew how Mercutio must have felt back then. Night after night, he was forced to remember what happened. Vile Tybalt who killed his lover falling to his knees, making some kind of choked sound as the sword pierced through him, blood dripping from his mouth to the ground, his whole body dropping down like a ragdoll. The screams coming from the other end of the corridor, the heavy iron lock on the door, the loud cries of his aunt's heartbreak, which suddenly stopped, along with her heart. Paris, whom he could only recognise from the pompuous outfit, lying on the ground, his throat slashed. His cousin Romeo motionless on the stone slab, eyes still open, but no longer seeing, his skin cold and rigid to the touch, a small, empty glass vial resting between his fingers. Young, too young Juliet, a knife in her chest handle deep, dark blood staining her beautiful, white dress, and also her mouth and chin, alike his cousin even in death. The sight of them was burnt so deep into his mind he couldn't erase it if he tried. And he tried.

Still, those images weren't what scared him the most. It was that of Mercutio, every second of his last, fatal duel - the one against death. From the moment he revealed the blood stain on his shirt until the one he sat like a statue against the wall. Benvolio remembered the supplies he was holding falling from his hands. How hard he wept with the tears he had held back for his lover's sake. The hushed, shaky apology he told him, the kiss he pressed on his still warm lips, and the last, tearful look he paid him before turning the corner and running back to Romeo before he did something stupid. He shouldn't have rushed. No matter how hard he tried, he could never defend him. Or anyone.

He drew the curtains closed, barely ate, barely drank. And even though he had numerous guests, people who suddenly started caring now that he was the only reminder of Romeo and Mercutio still alive, he refused to speak to them. What would he even say?

Valentine was perhaps the only one who felt genuine empathy. Each time he dropped by, he seemed hopeful. He told him that miracles do happen. And of course he said things like that. He was still a child.

The Montague curled into a little ball of grief on his bed, lifting the plain, silver band resting on his finger to his lips. He didn't know if this would ever end, but before he had time to give the bad, intrusive thoughts further consideration, he passed out again. Only this time, he had dreamt of that one starry night on Mercutio's balcony. But now, he wasn't afraid to kiss him.

* * * * *

_Mercutio,  
I know you are getting these, though I can only hope you're actually reading them. I don't know what happened, or what I said, but this is no way to treat someone who just wants to help._

_I understand the pain of loss, but know this: you don't have to be alone with it. There is someone here who suffers like you do. We haven't heard him speak since your "death", and it's been a month. If you won't come back, at least tell him you're alive. Write him a letter, or ask me to do it. Or at the very least, talk to me._ _Please. There's nothing more painful than silence.  
Valentine_

The answer arrived a few days later, on a scrap of parchment barely bigger than the palm of a hand.

_I'm the reason most of his family is dead, and he suffers. He wouldn't want me there. Take care - of him and yourself.  
M_

* * * * *

_My Mercutio,_  
_The warm summer days drag on in a pace almost torturingly slow, matching the speed of the life I'm recently leading. It's double the torment, and I'm not sure how much longer I can go. I spend less time at home to avoid my uncle. He wants to help, but is all too persuasive. I didn't ask for it. And the streets, however peaceful, are just not the same anymore..._  
  
_I passed by Rosaline the other day. I know it's wrong and selfish of me, and still couldn't help but think: would all of you be alive right now if Romeo chose her that night? Or would I still have had to lose him and you? I hear rumours they want to marry me off to her, to signify the peace between our houses. Along with their own children, it seems they also killed Verona's common sense._  
  
_In a year, I got used to the cold, unfeeling touches of gravestones. Week by week, the flowers are less than they were before as everyone tries to forget them. But the anniversary is coming up next week. I'd bet a larger amount the bouquets will be in so high a pile then, that the graves can't be seen from them. Valentine chose well for you, however. The flowers blooming under our weeping willow get more beautiful every day. How I wish you could see..._  
  
_Oh, Mercutio, I'm such a fool. Your brother advised me to do this, he thought it may help if I tell you everything. But why am I wasting the ink and the paper on something you can never read? There's no point in telling you all this if I can never know what you'd say. And you always knew what to say, how, I may never understand. In fact, there's a lot I still don't know about you. Perhaps I'll ask when we meet again._

_Loving you was my personal heaven, and now, it seems, my personal hell on Earth. There's not a second of it I regret. I wish we had more seconds to refuse to regret, but my statement still stands. Without you in this world, I walk with an empty space beside me nothing can fill. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down, you said. But I can't. Love's rose-like thorns pierced right through my heart. There's no blood, no death. Only the agonising pain._  
  
_This is getting too long for something so senseless. Too many tears stain the paper. Anniversary preparations are underway, and your uncle expects me there. Suddenly everyone, who couldn't care less if I live or die, wants me around. Interesting, isn't it? Please, watch over me from above so I don't do anything out of place. And give my love to Romeo and Juliet._  
  
_Ever yours,_  
_Benvolio_

He knew Benvolio was better when there was finally an answer to his knocking. Valentine entered to find the Montague seated at his desk.

"Benvolio-"

"The prince?"

Valentine just nodded with a smile of surrender, as Benvolio stood up. As he walked closer, it wasn't hard to notice he had been crying again. Most probably had to do with the quill left lying on the table, with still fresh ink on its tip. That means he wrote the letter he asked him to.

"Go ahead." he told the older man. "I'll join you downstairs in a minute." He seemed suspicious, but went outside anyway. Once Valentine saw him turn the corner, and disappear from sight, he looked for the letter, hidden not too well under a book, and started reading.

As he finished, he folded it immediately, and put it inside one of his coat pockets. Now he knew exactly how to get his brother home after a year of hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy two months, Unsung. (And you guys as well.) The end is nearing... how I wonder, can you predict it?


	7. À la vie, à l'amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are loves great enough to destroy and ones to unify nations. There are loves great enough to kill - and ones, born when the stars align, great enough to bring someone back to life.
> 
> And Jonathan caused David to swear again: for he loved him as he loved his own soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 400 <3 Love you guys so much. Forever thankful.
> 
> Long one. Stick around. xx

Morning found Benvolio in the royal garden, strolling calmly through the woods. His eyes, usually baggy and tired, gleamed as youthful and curious that day as they did once. His gaze was fixed at the soft, blue sky first, ran along the blooming trees of every colour, all the way down to the grass shining in beautiful, emerald shades. He smiled, a faint, little one for the briefest of seconds. This was far better a resting place for his lover than the grim cemetery.

He reached the willow tree and nodded, greeting it almost as if it were an old friend. He kneeled down in the grass, taking a closer look at the flowers, even carefully running his fingers along the petals of the one nearest to him. The light breeze blew the branchlets around, them sweeping across Benvolio's shoulders, and against his hands and face. He smiled again, happy to be greeted in return. 

"Good morning, my love. It's been a while, hasn't it?" he asked, eyes on the ground. "Your uncle, my uncle... these men are needier than young children. Though this I surely don't have to explain to you." he chuckled, twisting the branchlets between his fingers contently.

It felt nice to finally feel okay. Or feel anything, for that matter. He wasn't always like that, rarely, actually - today seemed to be a particularly good day. Perhaps writing the letter, getting it all out _did_ help.

After a little silence, he spoke again. "Tomorrow's the anniversary. How are we feeling about that?" Somewhere deep inside, he still expected an answer. "Romeo would absolutely love all this attention. He'd bask in it like cats in the sunlight. I'm not sure about Juliet, but all women deserve to be treated like queens, don't they? And you..." he thought a little, a short smile on his lips. "Oh, you'd pester me all day long out of boredom. Peace and quiet is not your thing. And... neither is it mine to be honest. All days are the same." his eyes gazed at the flowers again. "Time heals everything, doesn't it?"

"Surely." Benvolio raised his head so fast he nearly got a whiplash when he heard the oh-so-familiar voice clear as day. The single word was uttered softly, yet with a bit of edge and a hint of posh aura about it. He knew only one person who spoke like that.

The man stepped out from behind the tree. No, not man. Ghost. Mirage. An evil hallucination wearing his late lover's face, his sharp eyes, his wide smile. And yet it was somehow different from all the other times his messed up mind made him see Mercutio. The new one's clothes were dirty and torn, his once long and graceful locks now cut short and rough. It almost didn't feel like him at all. Yet Benvolio's chest tightened as any time he saw such false images in the past year.

"No... no, no..." he ran his fingers through his hair. "I thought I was past this... I thought I got better..." he rambled to seemingly no one, staring at the grass. 

"Ben?" spoke his ghost quietly, his voice sending shivers down Benvolio's back. 

"Remember. He's not here. He died." The man pulled his knees up and hugged them tight.

"Benvolio, look at me." However tenderly he called him, the Montague knew better now than to get himself all disappointed because of something that wasn't even there. 

"It will be over soon. Calm down..." he whispered. "You'll cope with this. One day you'll forget. This is just a bad day." 

"Is this really what I did to you?" asked the stubborn picture beside him that just wouldn't disappear. 

Tears filled Benvolio's eyes. "Get out of my head..."

"My love, I'm real." The mirage crouched down to him. "Believe me." he said softly.

"How could I?!" The Montague gave in, and looked up at him through his tears. "How could I when I keep seeing you long after you've died? Mercutio, tell me how!" he sobbed, no longer caring who heard him speaking to himself. "I know I couldn't save you. I know I wasn't there. All my life I'll regret it. But I can't do this any longer! Leave me alone!" he begged.

His ghost seemed heartbroken looking at him, the sharp eyes now wide and filled with sorrow. A self-made guilt trip, Benvolio thought, trembling in his whole body from crying. He knew it wasn't real, he knew it wasn't rational, and that the real Mercutio would never let him cry over him so longer. But he still couldn't let go.

"I'm not going anywhere." said the false Mercutio, his hand on Benvolio's hand. The crying man froze when he actually felt a touch. Smooth skin against his own. He stared deep into the other pair of eyes scanning his face, waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry for everything I did to you. Can you forgive me?" he asked with a weak smile. 

Benvolio didn't know what to think. He saw him, there and then, a year ago. He was dead. He wouldn't ever come back. And yet, he was here, holding his hand and asking for his forgiveness, playing with open cards in a way the man he loved wouldn't. He wasn't real. And yet he was. And still wasn't.

"This is getting out of hand..." Benvolio stood up finally, brushing the real-seeming hand away, and walked off in the distance of the palace. He could only hope Valentine had some time for him.

* * * * *

"So you saw him again?" The young heir asked, setting his tea cup down. Benvolio leaned forward in his seat.

"I did. And..." he thought it over again. The last thing he wanted was to be pitied or treated like a mad person. "Nothing. Forget it."

"Hey. It's okay. What you have to say will never leave the walls of this room, you have my word." Valentine sat beside him on the sofa.

The Montague sighed. "He felt so real for a mere ghost... I felt his touch." The boy beside him nearly spat out his drink. That never meant well. "Or at the very least I think I did. That's never happened before."

By the way Valentine was smiling, he could tell something was very, very, truly, horribly wrong. The mischievious Escalus-smile. He'd recognise it out of thousands. "Ben, listen." he cleared his throat. "A lot of crazy things went down last year. And I may not have been entirely honest with you before." 

As Benvolio was about to furrow his brows, a loud, dragged creaking came from the bookcases making the two men spring up from their seats and turn. As one of them opened up, it revealed a hidden passageway. The Montague's eyes widened, and he wasn't any less surprised looking at the boy beside him, wearing an excited child's smile on his face. 

There he stood. The short-haired Mercutio sporting rags. Benvolio's breath hitched. He opened his mouth to tell Valentine his ghost has yet again reappeared, but the heir was faster to speak.

"So you still remember the secret passageway to mother's study. Good." he smirked, leaving the Montague politely bewildered while the two embraced.

"What sort of man forgets his own home?" smiled the gh- no. Not ghost. Mercutio. The real Mercutio. Benvolio couldn't stop staring. 

"He is real..." he tried to familiarise himself with the impossible. "Was he real every time?"

The younger Escalus chuckled. "He wasn't. But this is what I meant when I told you I haven't been entirely honest." he explained.

"I was real earlier this morning." Mercutio added. The study was spinning with Benvolio a little, not really knowing what to believe anymore. Not knowing whether he wanted to kiss the older man or beat him until he actually is dead. He ended up only taking a few steps closer, to look him directly in the eye.

"You were dead."

"Not for a second. Just unconscious. The signora wanted to tell you, but you ran away too quickly. Which, isn't your fault of course, as Romeo was in danger..." he trailed off guiltily.

"And?"

"And...?"

"Why didn't you come after me once you could? Where even where you all this time?" The Montague raised his voice.

"Venice." sighed Mercutio. 

"Venice!" laughed the younger, and he turned to Valentine. "You hear this? Ven-" And that's when the last piece of the puzzle clicked in place. "You knew. You were perfectly aware he was alive and never once tried to tell me!"

"Well, as somebody forgot to come home..." Valentine side-eyed his brother.

"Oh, shut up, you knew damn well why I didn't come home!" replied the older Escalus brother instantly. "Ben, I-"

"Well, I do know, but maybe your beloved doesn't understand. Wouldn't hurt to tell him." The heir counter-attacked.

"And for God's sake, will you let me?" Mercutio yelled, uttering the other two men speechless. "I'm sorry." he apologised almost immediately after, which his brother just nodded off. "Can you go out for a little, Val? I'm forever in your debt for what you did for me, but it's only fair if Benvolio and I talk this over in private."

"Of course." Valentine smiled goodbye, all at the same time directing a gaze at Mercutio mothers usually have when they tell their children to behave. He left the room after that. 

And then there were two.

Benvolio crossed his arms. "I'm all ears, Mercutio." he said, and the visitor began his tale.

He thought there was nothing his lover could say or do that would surprise him anymore. Fourteen years of friendship gave him enough of that. Still, hearing the story from another perspective made him shiver as he relived the memories again. He wasn't sure anymore how the duel actually went, as his nightmares left him with so many distorted versions to remember. 

Mercutio's side of the story explained so many things. Why he'd heard the signora shouting his name when he ran off. What that far away scream was he'd heard during Romeo and Tybalt's duel. Why the guards couldn't find his body. Why Valentine was so hopeful on the first week. His questions were almost all answered now, yet he didn't dare believe them. Just like Mercutio's presence in general. A part of him still whispered this was just a cruel nightmare.

"I felt like my death had killed all of them. That their blood stained my hands. So I stayed." he finished, never once daring to look at Benvolio as he spoke.

"You know," he began with a sigh, "if Romeo would be standing here right now and saying this to me, I would believe it. This sounds like something straight out of his mouth. Everybody has a part in it, Mercutio. You, I, Romeo, Tybalt and everybody else in Verona. I know you love thinking the world revolves around you, but this is not entirely your doing." Mercutio smiled slightly. 

"I'm sorry." he muttered again.

"We could have done something. Anything. But you decided without me." 

As Mercutio lifted his eyes at him, Benvolio felt something akin to a stab in his chest when he saw them filled with tears. He couldn't recall the last time he had let him see him cry. 

"I have thought it through millions of times. Imagine if I had gone back to the piazza then. Tybalt is dead, Romeo exiled. And here I am, who started everything. Alive and well. Unpunished. The war between your damned families would've got stronger, as they would lose their little respect for mine. My uncle and Valentine both in danger, you eventually forced to turn against me. It's not five, but five times five people dying. At least this way I knew the three of you were all safe." 

Benvolio stood silent, trying to process after this explanation he couldn't exactly argue with, while also giving some time to his lover to compose himself. He wanted nothing more than to forgive him. To hold him in his arms like he did before and forget everything that happened this past year, including that they were ever apart. But there was still something he couldn't quite understand.

"Mercutio..." he stepped a little closer. "I think I see why you went to the other end of the country, but I still don't know how I fit into this. You run away, then you want to come back, then change your mind and keep me in the dark. And here you are now, like nothing has changed. What happened?"

Mercutio smiled softly. "When I got that letter a year ago, I had thought about you as well." he began. "I'm the reason all you have is a disfunctional uncle and my brother, so I figured you'd be better off without me. Marry a pretty girl, forget I was ever a part of your life, be happy." His words stung like thorns. How could that idiot think Benvolio could ever be truly happy without him in his life? "Until a week ago, I was entirely convinced you could never stand to look at me again after what happened. My brother couldn't even convince me to come home or to tell you. Then I received this one day." he reached into his torn coat's pocket, and pulled out a folded paper, which he handed to Benvolio.

 _My Mercutio,_  
_The warm summer days_ \-- his handwriting. His letter. That was his letter that he almost tore up the second he finished it. But... that was impossible...

"My brother found this and sent it to me. I read it over and over again, as I just couldn't believe what you had written. This was the only convincing I needed to return." Benvolio didn't know whether to thank or curse Valentine in that moment. "I was scared because of the way you treated me earlier. That this wasn't the only occasion you thought you saw me. For a moment I wished I hadn't come, because I knew exactly what happened. I ruined you, as I ruin everybody. I told you right from the start. Yet you handed me everything you are, no holds barred." Mercutio brought a hand up to cup Benvolio's face. "I can only hope you didn't regret it. Because from the moment I met you, everything I am is also yours. Given you will still have me." And that's as long as Benvolio could stay mad at him.

He embraced his lifelong partner tight, taking in the smell of the sea coming from his coat, and the feeling of finally having him in his arms after so long. Mercutio returned it that very second. They both held on to each other like their lives depended on it, standing in the middle of the study in blissful silence. After a long year, they had finally come home.

Stepping back, Benvolio watched his lover take his hands in his, and lift him to his lips. But before he could kiss them, he furrowed his brows, his sharp eyes widening soon after. He looked up at Benvolio as he released his hands, leaving the younger puzzled.

"What's wrong?" he asked with an awkward smile.

"I..." he stopped, staring ahead in disbelief. The man who always knew what to say seemingly ran out answers, only making Benvolio more concerned. "You did write you were to be married off, but I didn't think..." he laughed humorlessly. Now the Montague was the one furrowing his brows. "Okay, I get it, this is revenge for me not telling you I was alive. Very well played, Benvolio. I shall not disturb you any longer. I hope you'll be happy with her... really." he turned his back to him. But before he could walk away, Benvolio grabbed him by his shoulder and spun him around.

"Mercutio, I can't keep up with you. What makes you think I'm married?" he asked sincerely.

"Well, few things are more obvious than a wedding ring." he pointed at Benvolio's left hand. The one with the silver band. Benvolio couldn't force the smile off his lips as he ran his hand through his hair, soon growing into a laugh. Mercutio gave him a look of disapproval. "Ben, please! I know this is unusual coming from someone like me, but I'm serious!"

"No, you're an idiot." The Montague responded promptly, still grinning. "You don't recognise this ring, do you?"

"Am I supposed to?" he asked. Benvolio sighed.

"For a smart man, you're being quite slow." he chuckled, much to Mercutio's dismay. "A whole year, and you've never noticed something was missing from your hand?" Benvolio smiled as the older finally realised, signalling it with a small gasp.

"My father's ring. You were the one who took it." he said, more to himself than to Benvolio. "You had it all along!" he smiled.

"I borrowed it when you were busy bleeding out. I wanted to have a part of you with me even after you're gone, and this was right there. So if there's anyone I'm married to, it's you, not Rosaline." he took Mercutio's hand in his own and squeezed it. As he looked at him, he caught his eyes, shining from a newfound bliss, with something in them he didn't know he missed. He saw stars. And for a split second, he wished they could actually be married.

"Funny that you say that..." the older smiled. "I used these rings as a kind of memoir as well after my parents died. These two have seen so much grief they lost their original meaning." 

"So they really were wedding rings." Benvolio said, as he didn't really know what else to say.

"And they can be wedding rings once more." _That was quick._ Benvolio raised a brow at his smiling lover. "What? We have God up there as our witness, and the two of us. It would be a waste of good rings, no?" he tried to persuade him.

"Interesting." The Montague crossed his arms, licking his lips. "I'm convinced I remember you saying 'I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is, for the which I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor.' What happened to that?" he grinned.

"Maybe I've changed my mind!" Mercutio threw his hands up, laughing.

"Or maybe you've lost it." Benvolio rolled his eyes. "We're both men."

"Like you cared that night after the ball." Mercutio walked close. "Need I remind you how much you didn't care?" he spoke in a low voice, laughing as Benvolio pushed him a little farther. "Ben, trust me. No one in our family has ever been a fool. I know what I want, and what I want is you. So if you'd do me the honour of marrying me-"

"I would." smiled the Montague. Mostly just because he was curious how Mercutio would react, but in his heart of hearts, he knew he wanted it just as much as he did. "But only on one condition." he added, making his now-fiancé raise a brow. "That we get married under the tree. If I must swear a vow, I want it in the same place I first swore my love." For the stars in the other's eyes, every word was worth it. He wanted those stars all to himself until the end of time.

Mercutio opened his mouth to speak, but in that second, there was a knock on the door. "Benvolio!" sounded Valentine's voice from outside. "It seems like you're in high demand in our family today. My uncle wants to talk to you yet again." he said, loud enough to be heard.

"Just a second!" responded Benvolio, and pulled his beloved close, pressing his forehead to his. "See you there after sundown, my betrothed." he grinned.

"Counting the minutes, my betrothed." he said. "Especially so I don't have to call you this any longer. It sounds stupid." Benvolio shook his head laughing as Mercutio pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Don't be late." smiled the latter as a goodbye, and Benvolio watched him slowly disappear behind the bookcase.

* * * * *

"I honestly never thought I'd be standing here, like this with someone. I lived for the day, running fast enough so no one could keep up. I loved the rush. Then along came you. It took me a while to realise I overtook everybody else - but slowed down for you. No one knows me like you do, no one can give me both the safety and the unexpected like you, and there is no one else quite as exquisite and beautiful as you. I might be stubborn, but you made me realise something. I might love the rush, but I love you more. Under the eyes of God, and with this ring, I take thee, Benvolio Montague, to be my husband today. And believe me when I say I will do my best never to hurt you again."

"When I met you, I couldn't quite imagine why you liked me. Fourteen years have passed, and I still don't know. But to me, as a child, you had always been like the eight wonder of the world or something, until I realised that you, too, are awfully human like the rest of us. And I prefer it that way. A wonder is, well, wonderful, but people like you have the wonder inside, waiting to be found. I have lost many things and many people, but I believe I have found you, now more than ever. And I intend to never again let you go. Under the eyes of God, and with this ring, I take thee, Mercutio Escalus, to be my husband today. My husband, who came back from the dead for me."

And where they shared their first kiss as lovers, they shared their first as husbands. 

* * * * *

"Ben," yawned Mercutio, leaning on the Montague's bare shoulder, "I have to admit, I forgot everything you told me about the stars that night."

Benvolio grinned. "Then why did you let me talk all night?" 

"I like to listen to you. You talk so awfully little." 

"Compared to you, dear, everybody does." 

As Mercutio repositioned himself, his head now laying in his husband's lap, Benvolio's hazel eyes were looking at the sky. Hands slowly treading their way into the other man's short hair, he reminisced on the last time they had sat on Mercutio's balcony like this. They needed not be afraid of getting caught, unlike now. Even though Valentine had arranged no one comes near what was once the former heir's room, anything could happen.

"You're still my guardian, aren't you?" asked the half-asleep Escalus. Benvolio smiled remembering what he had promised him.

"I suppose I am." he looked down at him. "Why?"

"Come with me. Come to Venice with me." he said softly. "I probably have to go soon, and I don't want to be there without you. I thought this time I'd ask." 

Benvolio couldn't imagine living anywhere else than Verona. It was the only place he had known and grown to love even despite its many bad qualities. But then again, he also couldn't imagine living without Mercutio again, and this devotion was stronger. 

"You know you only have to say the word, and I'll follow you anywhere." he smiled, bending down to kiss him. "It's not like you could live without me anyway."

"Hey!" His husband sat up and looked him in the eyes. "Signor Montague, I'll have you know I lived a year in Venice and did just fine!"

"Did you?" Benvolio leaned closer.

"Absolutely." smiled Mercutio. "You're just a rather pleasant bonus to my new life." he pulled him closer to kiss him. A little slow, a little sleepy, but they had time. "Don't you worry on our wedding night. Anything and everything can be arranged - later. If we leave at sunrise, we still have a good couple hours, so..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"Then tell me about the mansion. And the seas. Tell me everything you know." Benvolio asked. "I've had enough of surprises."

Mercutio chuckled. "So be it."

And as the two of them sat there with their backs against the balcony railing, Benvolio gazed at the sky, and tried to imagine all those things Mercutio described. The waves and the ships and the harbors, the bustling markets, and the great big mansion standing quiet by the seaside. If someone told him this morning that that's where he was headed, he'd curse them for the cruel joke. Even more so if that person told them he'd get married to a 'dead man'. But tonight, Benvolio decided to believe.

Curled up in his beloved's embrace as he told stories of merchants, moneylenders and quick-witted women, and looking at the stars he was so fond of, he realised these two he'd always have, whereever life would take him. Mercutio and the stars. And for him, it was perfectly enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding vows, and the scene after were written on a Saturday morning in June, with me sitting on my balcony and listening to songs like A Million Dreams from The Greatest Showman, War of Hearts by Ruelle, and, of course, Szívből szeretni from RésJ/Ama e cambia il mondo from ReG (my two favourite Aimer versions). The perfect way to say goodbye to the boys and Unsung.
> 
> Fun fact: when I originally scripted this chapter, before I published the first, and also in the first draft looong before the scripts, when the fic didn't even have a name, I didn't plan on marrying them. The ring sub-plot came to me only around the duel chapter, and I found it such a satisfying ending (at least, for me) that I kept it, and decided to incorporate it. I hope I decided well. 
> 
> This story, and you guys' response gave me so much confidence in my writing style. I can't thank you enough. May we meet again in another story. (Most likely Marvel, but perhaps Good Omens, I'll see.)
> 
> This is farewell. For more R&J content and meta, or just general crackheadery, find me on my Tumblr at @everybody-koiya. Until next time, see you there~  
> ~ R
> 
> (Bonus points to anyone who can recognise the not 1, but 2 Shakespeare references in this chapter)


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